


A Long Way Home

by xXQueenofDragonsXx



Series: A Different Road [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Action, Adult Carl Grimes, Alexandria Safe-Zone (Walking Dead), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Carl Grimes, Bittersweet Ending, But just really fucked up, Butterfly Effect, Carl Grimes Lives, Carl Grimes Needs a Hug, Carl Grimes is So Done, Carl Grimes-centric, Carl and Negan kind of just bonding because of the fact that everyone hates them, Character Death, Cute Judith Grimes, Cute RJ Grimes, Dark Carl Grimes, Drama, F/M, Family Drama, Family Feels, Flashbacks, He's not evil, Hurt Carl Grimes, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Michonne is a good Mom, Negan Being Negan (Walking Dead), Nightmares, One-Eyed Carl Grimes, POV Carl Grimes, Panic Attacks, Parent Michonne (Walking Dead), Protective Carl Grimes, Protective Rick Grimes, Rick Being an Asshole, Sad Carl Grimes, Secret Identity, Sibling Bonding, Slow Burn, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Torture, Violence, Walkers (Walking Dead), Whisperer Carl Grimes, and a whole lot of it, but he has a reason for it, but they’re oblivious idiots so it’s going to take a while, carlydia love is requited, he loves his son, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:55:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 133,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26229040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXQueenofDragonsXx/pseuds/xXQueenofDragonsXx
Summary: Carl Grimes was never able to reunite with his father during the prison attack. Despite searching desperately to find his family, he found nothing. Just as Carl was about ready to give up, he comes across a strange group, ones who lived and walked and wore the skin of the dead. And, after they save his life, he joins them.Years pass by, the world changes, and Carl changes with it. He becomes someone unrecognizable to anyone who might've once known him. But one day, when the Whisperers come across four communities who haven't yet accepted the new world, Carl's whole world is flipped upside down.
Relationships: Carl Grimes/Lydia, Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene, Maggie Greene/Glenn Rhee, Rick Grimes/Michonne
Series: A Different Road [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1884469
Comments: 382
Kudos: 220





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

The crisp morning air was chilled as leaves in many various shades of green and yellow, and even the occasional orange, red, purple, and brown gently swayed in the trees or rode in the bitter Virginia breeze. Fall was coming soon, no doubt. Only just around the corner, or maybe it was already here. It got kind of hard to tell sometimes, especially now with the dead wandering around. No one was really keeping track of the days anymore.

A big makeshift camp was set in a clearing in the middle of the woods, only a few lone figures wandering around the place despite the early morning chill. Everything was quiet. Still. _Silent._ Not a single voice nor sound could be heard, save for the steady crunching of leaves under careful footsteps, the groans of the many dead surrounding the camp, and the gentle rustling of leaves that came from the many trees lining the edges of the large encampment of the Whisperers. The air carried with it the faint scent of potential rainfall, and a low mist hung around the forest floor, engulfing it in a foggy blanket that made it hard to see even a couple feet in front of you.

For the most part, everyone in the camp was still sound asleep in their ‘tents,’ which were more like nests than they were tents, made out of brambles and all sorts of random shit instead of fabric. (And there were even some in the trees!) Only the ones on watch were still out and about. But even they wandered the clearing with a weariness in their step, one that came from staying up all night in the cold, he supposed, and Carl found that he could not really blame them for it either. He'd been on watch several times before, and while he could handle it without falling asleep, there was always a tiredness that seemingly seeped into his bones along with the cold, which made it so that all he wanted to do was collapse into his tent for a long night's sleep. Something he hadn't had in a long, long time.

The morning air was surprisingly refreshing compared to how hot it often got later in the day. That was actually one of the many reasons as to why he preferred waking up long before everyone else did, to take advantage of the short lasting chill before everything turned hot as hell for the rest of the day. While the summer's here (wherever 'here' was) were pretty much nothing compared to how bad it got in Georgia, it was still enough to make him grimace whenever it got to that time of day where things started heating up.

He stood right outside his own makeshift nest, which he had set near the edge of the large encampment, closest to the groans of the dead and farthest away from the center of the camp where Alpha's own nest lay. There was no particular reason why he decided to place it where it was instead of somewhere closer to everyone else, but he chose to do so either way. Maybe that was the reason why he got so little sleep most of the time. Because he simply didn't allow himself too.

Carl grimaced, hugging his arms to his chest as he glanced around. He wasn't wearing his mask right now, seeing as he usually only started wearing it later in the day as people began to wake. And although the lack of walker skin of his face felt freeing, he still stood there tense, raking one of his hands through his dark, knotted hair and breathing a tense exhale through his nose, frustration bubbling through him as the seconds wore on.

His one remaining eye drooped the slightest bit, a sleepy haze slowly engulfing his mind, but he knew that even if he had a good night's sleep, it would have made no difference to the bone-breaking exhaustion he felt now. While Carl had tried to sleep earlier, he had woken up quite early due to yet another nightmare. It was a regular occurrence for him now. To have nightmares pretty much every night. Had been since he was fourteen.  
  


The dreams were of so many different things. But the one that was the most recurring was of his family during the attack on the prison. Each of them consisting of Carl being forced to watch them die again and again and again without being able to do a single goddamn thing about it. The dream was always the same, and no matter what he did and tried, there was only one way to evade them, and that was to simply not sleep, and that wasn't an option. But despite Carl continually telling himself this, he got less and less sleep every night, and it was starting to show.

Carl sighed, lifting up a hand to brush aside some of his hair that was hanging loosely in front of his face; he should probably cut it or put it in a ponytail or something --that always made it easier to manage. But he didn't exactly have any scissors with him, nor did he have a hairband to tie it up in. He should probably ask Lydia if she had one later. Or one of the other women in the pack, at least one of them should have a hairband. His face twitched, the heavy scent of death tickling his nose, it was a smell which he had gotten used to over the past decade or so but was never particularly fond of. He didn't know if anyone could ever even be fond of it. It wasn't a pleasant smell whatsoever.

Carl's frown deepened, not liking where his current train of thought was going. He then cast a wary glance toward the cluster of makeshift nests stationed a little ways away, toward the vast clearing where they had been using as a camp for the last few days. He was already starting to hear the steadily growing murmur of voices as people began to awake from their slumber, and he knew it could only be a matter of time before Alpha woke, then his day would really get started. He just wasn't sure whether he was looking forward to that or not.

"Delta." A deep and hoarse voice sounded from somewhere behind him, and Carl didn't even have to look to know who it was.

"Beta." Carl greeted, turning his head slightly to look up at the man. Beta was an incredibly large man, much larger than Carl could ever be, standing at around six-feet and five or six inches, with broad shoulders and a thick beard that hung far below his mask. He was undoubtedly much taller than Carl was, dwarfing him and pretty much everyone else in the pack without even trying. The man was intimidating, incredibly so, and there was once a time where Carl had been just as intimidated by the man as everybody else who met him was, but not anymore, he had stopped fearing Beta a long time ago.

Carl glanced away from the man, moving his gaze back toward the camp as Beta came up next to him, footsteps surprisingly silent for such a large man. "I hadn't realized you were up too. Last I checked, Alpha didn't put you on watch." He said, his voice quiet.

"She didn't put you on watch either," was Beta's response, "and I was adding to the herds. These forests are quite abundant with the dead." He said this in a pleased tone of voice, and Carl hummed absentmindedly, an image of the hundreds, maybe even thousands, of walkers that the Whisperers had gathered over the years coming to mind. 

"That's good," Carl responded after a moment or two, crossing his arms again to battle the morning chill. "Alpha's been wanting to expand them more, hasn't she?"

"She always is," Beta responded, "and we always are."

Carl dipped his head in acknowledgment to Beta's words, his one blue eye fixing on the man's face, covered by the walker mask that he always seemed to be wearing. Which, in this case, he was. Very few had ever seen Beta's face since the dead had first started walking: and only Alpha, Lydia, and Delta had ever seen it since the Whisperers had been formed. And it wasn't even until two years ago that Beta had let that happen, and even then, it wasn't really by choice. The second in command's head had been hit by a stray bullet during an attack on a community. Luckily, the shot had only really grazed Beta's head, but it had needed to be checked and cleaned to stop the chance of infection, and Carl had been the only one with any knowledge of medicine nearby at the time. While Beta had not liked the fact that he had to remove his mask, it was either that or let the wound get infected, and the right decision was an obvious one.

"I might take my group to go find some more walkers for the herds," Carl said idly, shrugging his shoulders undecidedly, "or maybe we'll go hunting, find a couple deer or something to cook up for the rest of the pack, we definitely need it."

Food was becoming quite hard to find as the days went on, and it was becoming even harder to find enough of it with a group of this size. At this rate, they would be lucky to even have one sustainable meal a day, which was what they had been doing for the past couple of months to save food. Carl reached up, scratching at an itch on his neck before glancing down at his hands, both covered in a pair of fingerless gloves he had found a couple years back in an abandoned store, barely reaching beyond his knuckles. But they did a good enough job at hiding the scars he wanted to keep hidden, so he kept them. 

Carl then looked back up at Beta, trying to read the expression on his face with little success due to the walker-mask covering his features. He was starting to wish he had his own mask on right now. It had always made him feel somewhat uncomfortable when others were wearing their own while he wasn't. And Beta had always been good at reading facial expressions, especially his own.

"Actually," Beta started, resting a hand on Carl's shoulder in a way that would have been friendly if it weren't for the painfully bruising grip that the second in command held it in. "I believe that Alpha wants you to go with Gamma today."

"Gamma?" Carl echoed incredulously, nose wrinkling at the mere mention of Alpha's third in command. "Any reason why?"

"Gamma has been losing more of his group members than the rest of us have combined," Beta explained, "Alpha believes it might be essential to send someone with him to make sure that he's following her orders and not doing something that could endanger his whole group."

"So she wants me to babysit him because Gamma can't do shit without fucking up is what you're saying," Carl concluded, voice coated with a thin veil of annoyance. It wasn't directed at Alpha -- it never was, Carl would do what she said despite how little he may like it. No, the annoyance was directed at Gamma instead. Beta, thankfully, had known that already, and if he hadn't... well, if he hadn't, then Carl would have been dead a long, long time ago. Everyone in the pack knew of Carl's disdain for Gamma, which was heavily returned by the other man. Lord knows what Alpha was thinking -- sending two people who hated the hell out of each other out on a mission together. It was like she was setting them up for failure. "Anything else I should know?"

"I believe that she's also sending Lydia with him," Beta added as if it were an afterthought, and Carl's head snapped up, a scowl appearing on his face at the mere thought of his friend being anywhere near Gamma.

"Well, now I have to go," he grumbled, sending Beta a half-hearted glare. The man chuckled, a sound that was almost never heard, and let his hand drop away from Carl's shoulder.

"I thought you might react like that," Beta said, a trickle of amusement in his voice, and Carl snorted.

"You know how much I hate Gamma," he responded, "and how much I hate him near Lydia."

"Yes, I do." Beta nodded, staring Carl down with an indescribable look in his eyes. "And I suggest that you should go put on your mask. We have work to do, after all." 

With those final words, Beta departed, striding off to go who knows where while Carl remained where he was, standing stoically in front of his nest.

He stayed there for another couple of moments, glancing around the area, taking a few moments to calm his racing thoughts. Once he had, he ducked back into his nest, grabbing his mask and many knives from where he had stored them, hesitating for a brief moment before taking his machete too. He took two of his knives, placing them into a makeshift holster on his right arm before attaching the rest to his belt. He knew perfectly well that it was a little much, and Lydia never wasted a chance in teasing him about having way too many knives on him, but it's better to be safe than sorry, especially in this world, something that Carl knew all too well.

Carl took the mask in his hands, heaving a small sigh as he tugged it over his head. The leathery texture of the walker skin slid right across his face before falling into place like it was meant too. Carl let out a deep breath, the faint smell of death permeating his nostrils, causing them to flare up, overpowering them briefly before finally settling down as he got used to the scent once again. Despite how morbid wearing the skin of the dead was, something about the mask always had felt comforting to him. Like it was keeping him safe, which he supposed it did in a way. Kept him safe from the dead.

Once he was set with his mask on and his blades secured to his body, he went back out into the open. There were more people out and about now, having woken up in the brief time he had been talking to Beta and getting his mask on, and were now going around starting their day's work. Carl could feel his body tensing up a little when he spotted Alpha a couple feet away, saying something in a quiet voice to a stoic-looking Lydia, who looked as if she'd rather be anywhere but there. His conversation with Beta coming back to him, Carl bit back another sigh, straightening himself up before making his way toward the mother and daughter, catching Lydia's eye as he approached.

He had a job to do after all.

* * *

After talking to Alpha, Carl learned that Gamma's group was supposed to be meeting at the north end of camp where the least amount of nests were located by the time the sun was highest in the sky -- at noon. Carl, with Lydia at his side, approached the area with a faint feeling of foreboding in the pit of his stomach, feet feeling heavier and heavier with every step as he drew near. He couldn't help but have a feeling that this whole mission was going to turn out horribly. It always did when it came to Gamma. That man seemed to have a bit of a thing for causing things to go badly, and it was honestly a bit of a mystery as to why he was even third in command. There were so many people in the pack who would do so much better than Gamma was.

Hell, anyone would do better than Gamma. It wasn't really all that hard.

Carl was pulled from his thoughts when he felt a warm sensation cover his right hand. Glancing down, he realized that Lydia had intertwined her fingers with his own and was currently looking up at him, mask not yet donned on her head, with a look of understanding in her dark brown eyes. Carl squeezed her hand, taking in a deep breath as he tried to rid himself of the tenseness in his body. 

"Sorry," he said in a quiet voice so only she could hear, "I'm just a little..."

"Tense?" Lydia guessed, arching a brow. "I can tell. Did you have another nightmare?"

Carl couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head in a mix of amusement and sadness as they drew to a small stop at the edge of the camp. Lydia was the only person in the pack he had ever told about his nightmares -- about his family. She knew about his sister, how his mother had died giving birth to her, his father, the rest of his old group, and how he had gotten separated from them -- Lydia was the only person he truly trusted here, and the only one who he really cared about. She also knew each of his moods much better than anyone else, maybe even better than he did, so he honestly wasn't all that surprised that she figured out what was bothering him without him even saying a single word to her about it.

"I did," he admitted in a soft voice after a second or two, and Lydia squeezed his hand, bumping her shoulder into his own and causing a small smile to break out across his face. "I also... I just-" he shook his head, "you know how much I hate Gamma. How he makes me feel."

"Everyone does." She responded dryly, making him chuckle. "but we have to go with him, you know that."

Carl sighed, mouth pressed into a hard line. "Yeah, I know. Don't have to remind me."

Her lips quirked up into a tiny smile, and Carl felt his heart warm at the sight of it. The smile only lasted for a few seconds, however, falling away as her whole body tensed up at something he couldn't see. Carl turned to find what caused her sudden change in mood, and immediately a scowl was on his face when he spotted Gamma a little ways away, making his way toward them, a few other members of his group at his heels. Carl took a small step forward, positioning himself so that Lydia was behind him right as Gamma came to a stop in front of him.

"You're late," Gamma snapped to the two of them, the edges of his flat, arrogant voice sending spikes of annoyance flaring up in the pit of his stomach. Lydia, from behind Carl, shifting slightly, shuffling her feet and dropping his hand as the rest of Gamma's group pulled to a stop.

Carl raised his head, looking Gamma right in the eye and raising an eyebrow, trying his best to look as bored as he possibly could. He could only imagine that Lydia was doing the same from behind him. His one blue eye drilled right into Gamma's darker ones. And although the third in command wore the mask that covered his features, rendering it impossible to see his face, Carl could only imagine the scowl on his face holding just as much, if not more, distaste for his current situation as Carl's did.

Honestly, their hatred for one another might be the only thing they had in common.

"Sorry," Carl said after a moment, speaking in a tone that suggested that he wasn't at all sorry, his quiet voice dripping with sarcasm and distaste as it always did whenever he was around Gamma. Lydia often liked to call it his 'I'm tired of your bullshit and would much rather slit your throat' voice, and he couldn't help but agree that it was very accurate when it came to Gamma. "I can assure you that I was coming though. Can't let you leave without your babysitter, after all." He snarked, a pleased smirk appearing on his face when he spotted the anger flaring up in Gamma's eyes.

"Watch your mouth, Delta." The man warned. "You shouldn't talk in such a way to your betters. You know that Alpha doesn't tolerate things like that." Gamma was practically snarling at him now, leaning forward with his dark eyes boring straight into Carl's, who simply rolled his remaining eye, reaching out a hand to push him away, not liking how close Gamma was to him at the moment. He then opened his mouth to respond to Gamma's taunt, knowing just what to say. The words were right at the tip of his tongue when he felt Lydia place her hand on the small of his back, shaking her head the slightest in his peripheral vision, the message clear in her eyes without even having to say a word of it aloud. _Don't engage him. He's not worth it._

So Carl gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching, and every part of him was telling Carl to snap back at Gamma, but despite this, he relented, choosing to keep his mouth shut rather than to engage Gamma even more, even if all he wanted to do was sock the man in the face and see him _bleed._ There was a smug look that crossed Gamma's face at Carl's silence, and Carl’s hand twitched, on the verge of punching the man in the face, but then he glanced back at Lydia, who was still at his side, and he elected not to.

Lydia, thankfully, seemed to sense this and took a step forward, looking Gamma in the eye and sniffing haughtily. "You know, I doubt that Alpha is going to be very pleased if she finds us loitering around instead of doing our job." She snapped, hardly bothering to hide her triumphant smirk as she did so. He could only assume that she had gotten her desired effect from her words judging by the pleased look that then passed over her face as they all flinched back, uneasy murmurs rippling through them, and Carl had no doubt that if he could see their faces, they would all be paler than snow. Carl couldn't help the small flicker of amusement flaring up in him at this. While she didn't do it often, Lydia definitely knew how to scare the shit out of people if she was trying to.

"Alright then," Gamma snapped with much less bite in his words than before, "get your mask on, and let's **go."**

* * *

What they were doing was quite simple, really. Scout out the area around their camp, see if there were any people, kill them if there were. If they came across any animals, kill them, and bring them back. If they came across any loners, watch them for a bit to see if they had a group. If they did, kill them, but if they didn't, try and recruit them. It was something they had been doing for years, and the rules were practically ingrained into Carl's mind at this point, having known them since he had become a part of the Whisperers. 

It had only been an hour or two before they had run into people.

A man and a woman -- wearing clean clothes and were no doubt a part of a community of some kind, one was injured after landing badly on his leg, one wasn't -- Carl didn't get that great of a look before they had spotted the group of walkers headed their way. Gamma had ordered them to follow the pair with the instructions of killing them if they caught up to them or just letting the dead do the work for them.  
  


A few years ago, Carl would have protested to such an order, would have said something about how cruel that was and how they should at least check if the people were good or bad before killing them, but now he didn't even flinch. Didn't even think twice about it as he discreetly unsheathed one of his knives, having done things like this a thousand times already.

It was quite sad really, the old him would have been horrified at who he'd become, at who he was. But that didn't matter anymore, none of it did. Right now, all Carl had to do was focus on the current objective. Find and kill these people. He could brood about his old life later, doing that now would only get him killed.

He slipped quietly through the herd, his feet dragging against the ground in a slow, lame manner, arms swaying back and forth as he moved, mimicking the way that the dead walked all around him, careful not to make a single sound that would bring the dead's unwanted attention onto him. Carl had done enough of this over the years to know just what would happen if he made even the slightest mistake -- the smallest wrong move, if he stumbled or went a little too fast in the slow moving herd, those things could make the walkers realize he wasn't one of them, and Carl would be dead within seconds. So he kept his eyes forward, sparing a few quick moments every couple of minutes to glance around and locate the other members of Gamma's group in the small herd surrounding them.

He caught a glimpse of the two strangers ahead of the herd, losing sight of them just as quickly as one of the taller walkers moved in front of him, blocking his view. Their groans were loud, drowning out any other sound he might have picked up if he had not been in the midst of a herd, and the stench of rot was near overwhelming, but Carl had been with the Whisperers long enough to have -- in a way- grow used to it. He had stopped gagging at the smell long ago, but it never failed in making him at least somewhat lightheaded from time to time. Fortunately, he had never thrown up. Others, on the other hand, weren't so lucky. There had been times where new recruits had been brutally torn apart after they had thrown up in the middle of a herd, and it was never an easy thing to watch despite how many times he's seen it happen.

His eyes then stumbled upon a fellow Whisperer a couple feet away, gently swaying just as Carl was. It took no time at all for him to realize who it was. _Lydia._ There were two giant walkers on each side of her as she moved, and if he were anyone else, he wouldn't have realized that Lydia was one of them. He simply would have thought that she was another one of the dead. 

No one ever really moved like Lydia did in a herd of walkers, maybe except for Beta and Alpha, but that was kind of a given at this point. With Lydia, it was like she pulled herself into a trance of some sort, just allowing herself to get lost in the movements of the dead so strongly that it got hard to tell whether it was her or not. Maybe it was because she had been doing it for so long already. Practically most of her life, really. Hell, the only reason that Carl knew it was her was because he had known her for years already, so she was always clear to Carl. He bit back the urge to sigh, forcing himself to go back to the task at hand, moving his gaze to the rest of the herd that was still searching for the two strangers who had somehow managed to avoid their hungry jaws.

"Where are they?" He heard Gamma hiss from somewhere in front of him, voice low and gruff and blending right into the dead's chorus of groans without much trouble.

"They must be close." One of the members of Gamma's group responded, voice equally as low and gruff. "Don't let them get away."

A sharp intake of breath caught Carl's attention, and he turned his head to the side slightly, catching sight of two figures darting further into the woods beside them, covered in what looked like mud. _Huh, smart._

"Gamma," he growled, continuing on when the other man turned to look at him, "I saw them, they went this way." Carl made a small gesture with his head, motioning to the forest to which he had seen them disappear into.

"After them," Gamma snarled, and immediately the group changed course, directing the herd of walkers in the direction the two strangers went. But by the time they had found their trail again, only one of them was visible. The woman -- now running alone, was injured and exhausted, which only made it easier to keep track of her as she attempted to escape the slowly growing herd, which was gaining on her more and more as the seconds wore on.

"Where's the other one," he heard someone hiss.

"He has to be nearby," Gamma growled as if suddenly noticing that there was one person instead of two like there had been when they had first begun pursuing them. "Delta, Kappa -- take some of the herd to go track the other one. We got this one. We'll meet back at the bridge we passed earlier by sundown." 

_Yeah, for some reason, I highly doubt that._ Carl thought with annoyance, catching Lydia's eye as he slowly began to split the herd into two. She gave him a tiny nod, and Carl heaved a small sigh, gaze snapping on the other man who Gamma had called out to -- what was his name again, Kappa? Carl wasn't sure. He couldn't really remember much about him except for the fact that he was a member of Gamma's group. Carl honestly never bothered in trying to learn all of their names. Most of them would die anyway, so it was best not to get too attached.

"This way," he said in a low voice to Kappa, who nodded mutely, probably knowing better than to disobey Carl's orders. "I think I can already see some tracks. She must've hid him away somewhere."

"Even if she did hide him - we'll find him," Kappa responded curtly, tilting his head to the side as he spoke. "He can't stay hidden forever, and he obviously can't get far with that leg of his."

_You'd be surprised at how far injured people can go if they're really desperate. --_ Carl thought, thinking back on when he had first escaped the prison. Both alone and injured, much worse off than this stranger currently was. He'd broken his leg, had a concussion, bruised ribs, and probably some other injuries, and yet he still managed to survive out there.

The ones who were desperate were the most dangerous, after all, so what made this one any different?

* * *

The sun had long since set and rose: minutes passing like years and hours passing like decades. The morning and come and gone like a leaf in the breeze. It was mid-afternoon now, and the sun was already once again bearing down on his back relentlessly as he made his way through the forest infested with the dead. Kappa remained somewhere behind him, keeping an eye out for possible stragglers in the slow-moving group of walkers.

They were making their way back toward the bridge once again for what was the fifth time in the last three hours. They had been doing this for what felt like an eternity -- but he knew they had only started doing this when midnight came and went with no sign of Gamma's group. The group had failed to show up at the bridge at sundown as they were supposed to when they first split up, so Carl and Kappa had both been hoping that Gamma's group, by some chance, had finally managed to make an appearance after failing to do so for the past few hours. But their hopes weren't all that high. While it wasn't entirely rare for a group to be a little late after they split up to go do something, it had been _hours_ already. And even Carl knew that Gamma couldn't have been tracking the girl down this whole time. He would have given up eventually like Carl and Kappa had when it came to the other one.

_So where the actual fuck are they?_

Carl bit back the urge to groan as he made his way through the forest, a scowl marring his face, and his one blue eye narrowed behind the mask that covered his features. The sun was, once again, highest in the sky, which meant that it was the hottest it would ever be that day. He could already feel the sweat trickling down his back, and in mere hours it would be scorching all around them, which would only make things so much harder than they should be if they didn't find Lydia and the rest of Gamma's group (mostly Lydia) quickly.

He resisted the overwhelming urge to call out, reminding himself that he was currently in the middle of a herd of walkers at the moment, and calling out with them surrounding him would be a death sentence. What he needed to do was find Lydia and the rest of Gamma's group -- wherever they may be -- and getting himself killed or distracted was not going to help with that process whatsoever. _Maybe if I had insisted on Lydia coming with me, this wouldn't have happened._

It was a little too late for that now.

"If Gamma isn't there when we get to the bridge, we're going back to Alpha, got it?" He snapped toward Kappa, his patience already running thin. The other man only nodded, not saying a word in response, knowing better than to test Carl's current temper.

The two of them spent another few minutes making their way to the bridge with the small herd they had collected along the way at their heels. He began to recognize his surroundings a little bit and now knew that they were finally nearing the bridge. Carl let himself feel a smidge of relief and opened his mouth to say something to Kappa when the unmistakable bang of a gunshot echoed through the air, quickly shutting him up and catching the attention of pretty much every single walker in the vicinity. It was only after a few seconds passed that he realized it was coming from the direction of the bridge.

_Shit._

None of the people in Gamma's group had any guns as far as he could tell, so the gunshot couldn't have come from any of them. Which meant that it had to have come from someone else, and gunshots meant people, so that meant strangers. Carl and Kappa shared a look, exchanging nods before beginning to herd the walkers in that direction, and Carl couldn't help picking up his pace somewhat as the seconds slowly passed by. It was taking every ounce of willpower he had not to break into a sprint right there and then. The only thing stopping him was the fact that if he did run, the walkers would turn their attention to him, realizing he wasn't one of them, and that was currently the last thing he wanted or needed at the moment.

Another gunshot rang out seconds later, followed by an unfamiliar shout, and the sound only made him go faster.

After what felt like another eternity, he turned to Kappa. "Try to keep the herd here, I'm going ahead to check it out. If I'm not back in ten minutes, then you can come looking. Got it?"

Kappa nodded again, and Carl turned back around, hiding behind a tree for a brief moment so he wouldn't accidentally lead the herd with him before taking off in the direction of the bridge. Once he emerged from the treeline, the first thing that Carl noticed was the bridge, next was the people on it. A man was standing on one end of it, the opposite of where he stood, and Carl was unable to see his face from where he stood. Despite this, Carl could see enough to know that this wasn't one of his people. He was sure that there were others too, but Carl was currently unable to see them from where he stood crouched behind a bush.

A few seconds passed, and Carl's gaze was then drawn to the group of walkers in the middle, hoping to see Lydia but was unable to. He did, however, catch sight of two members of Gamma's group, lying on separate sides of the bridge, one without an arm, a bleeding hole in his chest while the other was in the process of being torn apart by walkers, an arrow in his leg. Carl couldn't see Gamma anywhere, so he could only assume that either he wasn't with them or he was dead in a ditch somewhere. He was hoping it was the latter because if Gamma did leave Lydia to die, Carl would hunt that fucker down and rip his throat out.

A vague feeling of deja-vu washed over him, but he forced himself to ignore it as he crept closer to the bridge, heart thundering in his chest.

_Please let Lydia be okay, please, please, please..._ Carl pleaded internally, creeping even closer to the bridge. His heart was practically in his throat as he finally stopped at one end of the bridge, hidden behind one of the beams and out of sight. He peered around it slightly, just barely able to make out Lydia's form as she dropped to her knees, shakily raising her hands up into the air in surrender. _Oh, thank god..._ Carl wasn't sure what he would do if it turned out Lydia was dead. She was his only friend he had left in this shitty world, and if she had died...

He didn't know what he would do.

Carl poked his head from around the beam even more, taking in a horrified breath when he registered the various weapons currently being aimed at Lydia's head. _Well, fuck. How am I supposed to get her out of this now?_

His eye scanned the area around him, trying to come up with a possible way to somehow get both him and Lydia out of there alive. His mind was racing a million miles a second, and he gnawed on his lower lip, only just managing to bite back a groan when no solution came to mind. There was no way he could take on those people alone, maybe if he still had his herd with him or Kappa, but all by himself? No way in hell.

He was kind of regretting not bringing Kappa with him now. He could only hope that the other man would disobey his orders and come anyway, which he doubted the man would do. God, why did he have to say ten minutes instead of five or something lower? That would've made things so much easier.

Right now, his best bet was going back to camp to tell Alpha what happened, but even then, would Alpha even care? If it were anyone else, he knew that, without a doubt, Alpha would have left them without a second thought with the exception of maybe Beta, who had never gotten caught even once since the Whisperers had been formed. But then again, if it were her daughter, then she had to do something, right?

With a shaky breath, he got to his feet, just about to head back into the forest to discuss this with Kappa when suddenly, something cold and circular was pressed against the back of his skull, stopping him right in his tracks and making his blood go cold.

As soon as he felt the metal against his head, he stiffened, recognizing the feel of a gun immediately. He hated this feeling immensely. It always made him feel so helpless and weak, being at somebody else's mercy. And while he wasn't in this situation often, it did happen on occasion. But even then, he usually had one of his pack members there with him to help get him out of this mess, but here -- unless Kappa decided to make a sudden appearance -- he was all alone.

It's enough to get him thinking: on how many regrets he had, on how many things he wished he could change. Should whoever this was decide to pull the trigger, it would be the end, there would be no coming back. He would never be able to find out what happened to his family all those years ago when the prison was attacked, would never get to find out whether any of them had survived or not, would never be able to find out what happened to his father and little Judith, who had been nearing a year old the last time he'd seen her, he would never be able to-

He squeezed his eye shut, stopping his racing thoughts, and took in a deep breath.

"Don't move."

The harsh voice spoke to him with a menacing southern drawl, one that sent a chill down his spine while sounding oddly familiar all at the same time. He didn't have the time to wonder why it felt that way, way more focused on the gun now pressed to the back of his head to really think about it for long. 

Carl opened his eye, exhaling slowly. "Listen I-"

"Shut it." The voice snapped, and if it were anyone else, he would've kept going, would continue to try and plead his and Lydia's way out of this situation in any way he could. But for some reason, Carl listened to the man, his mouth snapped shut almost instantly.

A few tense seconds passed, and the voice spoke up again. Still heartachingly familiar while Carl remained unable to place it. "Drop whatever weapons you have."

"I don't have any-"

"Bullshit." The man snarled. "Drop them. _Now."_

Reluctantly, Carl reached down, unhooking each of his many knives from his belt and dropping them down to the floor, his machete dropping with an extra audible thud. The man nudged one of his arms with the gun, where another one of his knives were hidden, and he bit back a sigh, slowly reaching into his shirt and taking those ones out too. They clattered to the ground as the rest of them did, and Carl faintly registered the movement as the man leaned down to grab each of the blades, tucking them away so Carl couldn't have them. Leaving him completely defenseless, a feeling which he hated immensely.

"No guns?" The man asked once he was done, his voice still thick with suspicion.

Carl shook his head, keeping his eyes on his feet as he tried to calm the rapid beating of his heart. "We don't use them. Too loud."

"Who is _we?"_

"The two you just killed, me, and the girl," was Carl's automatic response, the one that had been drilled into him since joining Alpha, "it's just us." He spared a quick glance at the treeline, praying that Kappa had gone and run. It had been past ten minutes at this point, and while Carl didn't know the guy that well, he'd much rather keep at least one of them alive.

"Bullshit." Carl's heart jumped at this response. "How many?"

"Please..." he begged, "you killed them all. Except for the girl, we're-"

"You're lying." The man spat. "Tell me the truth."

Carl shook his head, flinching as the gun was pressed roughly to the back of his head. "Please... me and her, we're the only ones left. I'm not lying!"

He could hear the walkers coming, emerging from the treeline and stumbling toward the bridge with hungry groans. He was a little surprised it took that long for them to appear. Carl bit his lip, mind racing with all the horrible ways this situation could end. For all he knew, this man could just shoot him in both his legs and leave him to be devoured by the dead. Being shot in the head would be his preferred way to go. Painless. 

"If you are the only ones, then why weren't you with them?" The man asked. "Where were you going to go before I stopped you? I doubt you were just going to run away without trying to help your friend." 

Carl opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Fuck, Gamma had really gotten them all into a deep fucking hole, didn't he? And the fucker wasn't even alive to go through whatever consequences he and Lydia were about to go through. Fucking asshole. 

"Fucking hell, I was supposed to be scouting ahead. That's why I wasn't with them." The lie slipped from his mouth without trouble, and he inhaled deeply, using every bit of his willpower to keep his voice from wavering. "I hadn't realized that they were going to go attack another group while I was gone." 

Another lie. Carl seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. 

"Turn around." The man ordered after a quick moment of silence. "Slowly," he added as if it were an afterthought.

Carl gave a jerky nod, his heart thundering in his chest so loudly he was surprised that the man couldn't hear it. Bit by bit: with slow, calculated, and deliberate steps, Carl turned to face this stranger, keeping his eye pinned to the ground and his arms raised in the air, much like Lydia's were a few feet away. He half expected the man to pull the trigger right then and there like many others would've done, but the gun remained pressed to his head without firing a single shot. To which he was thankful.

"Take off your mask."

Carl gritted his teeth but didn't protest. This man had him at gunpoint and could kill him at any time he pleased. It was probably best not to test his patience. He raised his head to look the man in the eye, raising his hands up to grip the bottom of his mask as he did so, but upon catching sight of the man's face, froze.

Because standing right in front of him, staring him straight in the eye with a scowl on his face was a man that Carl never expected to see again. One that he had last seen eight years ago, standing on one side of the gates while he tried to plead with the Governor to let them keep their home, one that had filled him with so much anger, so much regret -- so much pain and grief for so many years, yet he loved so much despite it.

Carl couldn't breathe.

_Dad?_


	2. Chapter 2

Right there, standing in front of him, holding a gun to his head with a scowl marring his face, was Rick Grimes. Carl's father.

Carl felt as if he were about to pass out.

This couldn't be real. There was no way in hell that this could be real. This had to be a dream or a nightmare of some sort. Yes, that was it, this was a dream. He'd wake up back at camp, and this whole thing would be forgotten by the time he went to sleep later that night. 

Or maybe he's imagining things, it wouldn't be the first time he's hallucinated or something similar, and it probably wouldn't be the last time either. But no matter what it was, the one thing he knew for sure was that this couldn't be real. His father was dead; he'd accepted that fact years ago when he stumbled across the remains of Terminus after finding the message painted in walker blood on a map to supposed 'sanctuary.' Hell, he had accepted it long before that, right after he had escaped the prison. Carl had cried and grieved for him already. This. Wasn't. Real.

But as Carl continued to stand there, completely frozen and rooted to his place in shock, he began to realize that -- no, this was not a dream, he's not hallucinating or seeing things or anything like that. He wasn't dreaming, he wasn't having a nightmare, he wasn't going to wake up back in camp and forget all about it in a few days time, and it wasn't all in his head. 

This was real. 

His father was standing right in front of him.

Carl had no idea how to feel right now, had no idea what _to_ feel. He had thought his dad was dead for the past eight-ish years for Christ's sake! The last time Carl had seen his father had been back at the prison, mere seconds after it had all turned to shit. The last memory he had of his dad was a quick glimpse of him and the Governor fighting in the prison courtyard. Carl remembered the Governor pinning his dad to the ground. He remembered seeing the Governor bring his fist down, hitting his father over and over and over, repeatedly until the man's face had been coated with blood. Then Carl had been swept back up in the tide of mayhem happening all around him and had never seen his father again. 

Or at least, until now, because despite his father's supposed death, here he was, clearly alive: with a graying beard, both grimy and horribly unkempt, looking as if he'd aged twenty years instead of eight but still entirely recognizable to Carl. 

It was him, it was Dad.

His dad was alive...

But the horrible realization slammed into him moments later. His dad doesn't know that it's him, doesn't know that it's Carl who was standing in front of him right now. Hell, his dad didn't even know he was alive! Didn't even recognize him. But then again, Carl was wearing his mask, nobody could see his face. And even if he could see him without the walker mask covering his features, Carl had changed so much over the past eight years that he would be surprised if his dad -- or any of his old group, for that matter -- would even be able to recognize his face anymore. 

"Did you not hear me? I said, take off your mask!" His father repeated in a voice low enough to be a growl, his gun hovering dangerously close to Carl's face. He looked just about ready to pull the mask off himself. 

Either way, his words were enough to snap Carl right out of his shocked daze (at least somewhat), and he reached up, his hands shaking as he found the laces on the back of the mask. When Carl finally got a good grip on them, he exhaled slowly, pulling them loose and allowing it to slip slightly from his head. His heart was hammering so hard in his chest that he could hear it echoing in his ears, drowning out even the overwhelming groans of the walkers emerging from the trees, and he felt as if he were about to throw up as he reached up again to loosen the mask. 

When the mask had been loosened enough for him to remove, Carl gripped the top of it and, with still violently shaking hands, pulled it off of his head in one smooth motion just like he had done so many times before. His hair tumbled out from beneath the mask almost instantly: messy, knotted, and tangled, falling in front of his face in a way similar to a curtain, covering his missing eye and obscuring his view somewhat in the other. 

God, he could only imagine how he must look to his father, covered with dirt and guts, missing an eye and littered with all sorts of scars. He must look like a complete mess. 

Honestly, he'd be very, very surprised if his father recognized him. 

His father faltered somewhat upon seeing Carl's face, enough so that Carl wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been looking for a reaction, and for a split second, Carl wondered if his father did, in fact, recognize him. But that train of thought was stamped out as soon as his father reached his other arm out, ripping the mask right out of Carl's hands and nudging him harshly with the gun.

Carl couldn't help the flare of disappointment that rose up within him. A small part of him had been hoping that his father would be able to recognize him, that he would realize it was his son who he was pointing a gun at, but despite this, Carl wasn't too surprised that he hadn't. His father was probably just surprised upon seeing the state of him, nothing more. It had been eight years, he looked nothing like the Carl that his father remembered. 

That didn't mean it hurt any less. 

"Get moving," his father snapped, and Carl held back the urge to flinch.

There was a look of pure hatred in his eyes, one that he's only seen the man direct toward people like the Governor, and Carl felt his heart break a little bit more inside when he realized that; to his father, he was one of those people, and as much as Carl would like to deny it, it was true. He was the kind of person who participated in raiding and destroying communities, in tearing families apart and murdering people both mercilessly and ruthlessly. Carl hadn't really thought about it before, but now that he did, Carl quickly realized that he had a lot more in common with the Governor than he would've liked. 

Hell, he was even missing an eye like the Governor.

Carl forced himself to stare back at his father, his expression completely blank as he had been conditioned into doing ever since he'd join the Whisperers. _Don't show any emotion_ , Alpha's voice echoed in his head, _don't let them see what you are thinking. Emotions are weak, you are not._

He wasn't weak, hadn't been in a long time, and he sure as hell wasn't about to start _being_ weak. That stuff was in the past. No matter how much it hurt inside, he wasn't going to be seen as the same naïve and vulnerable boy he had once been in front of his father. Not anymore. 

So he nodded, turning around and holding back a wince as his father began pushing him with the gun, urging him to walk forward. He gritted his teeth, absentmindedly reaching a hand to rub at the burn scars that covered the entirety of his left arm, trying desperately to get his whirling thoughts in order. He forced himself to take a deep breath, exhaling slowly and silently, using every bit of willpower he had not to cry out. But no matter what he did, he still felt like he was on the constant verge of breaking down. 

But how the hell could he not be? How could he not want to fall to the ground screaming and crying when his father, the man who had loved and raised and protected him for so long. Who had saved his life and the lives of so many others countless times without asking anything in return. Who he had thought was dead for so many years -- was standing so close to him? Not even a foot away, both alive and healthy.

Because honestly, he was on the verge of doing just that.

He could say something right now, something to make his dad realize it was him. Could say something about those god awful pancakes his mom used to make the two of them before everything went to hell or mention the prison and the Governor. He could say something right now, and a part of him was tempted to do exactly that, but he kept his mouth shut, not saying a word as his father forced him to walk onto the bridge. Despite the great temptation to tell his father who he was, bringing attention to their relationship right now would cause nothing but trouble -- it would only cause some horrible grief in his father. He knew him well enough to know that the man would have blamed himself for everything that had happened to Carl even if it wasn't his fault. And if Alpha ever found out...

The mere thought of her finding out sent a shiver up his spine.

He didn't even want to imagine how she might react. Or what she might do for that matter. 

As he stepped onto the bridge, Carl saw the exact moment that Lydia caught sight of him: she froze, her eyes going wide, and her mouth dropping open, stopping whatever she had been saying to these people mid-sentence. Her sudden silence caught the attention of the ones surrounding her quite quickly, and they all turned to look at what had caused her silence, each doing a doubletake when they saw Carl and his father approaching.

"Found another one?" One of them asked, taking a step forward and watching Carl through narrowed eyes. Carl stopped in his tracks upon recognizing the man's face, nearly falling over in shock. It was only after his father nudged him once more with the gun that he started walking again.

But fucking hell, Daryl was alive too?

Actually, he wasn't too surprised about that. Daryl had always been a survivor, and if anyone in his old group were to survive what had happened at the prison, he would have expected it to be Daryl. 

"Mhm, found him hiding over there," his dad responded, and Carl could only assume that he was gesturing to the area where Carl had hid, "was about to run away before I stopped him by the looks of it."

Carl tried to ignore the twinge of hurt he felt at this but failed miserably. The fact that his own father was treating him like an enemy that needed to be dealt with just hurt him in a way that not even the sharpest of knives could. Even if Carl was indeed the enemy to his father, he just couldn't help it.

In an attempt to distract himself, Carl's attention went to Lydia, heaving a quiet sigh of relief upon seeing the teen alive and relatively unharmed. He'd like to think that Daryl wouldn't lay a hand on a teenager like Lydia, but he wouldn't know. It's been at least eight years after all; who knows what had happened to his old group since Carl had escaped the prison almost a decade ago. Who knows what kind of man his father and everyone else was no. God knows that Carl wasn't the same person as before, so why should his father and the rest of them be.

He managed to catch her eye from where she was kneeling on the wood, her brown eyes were wide with fear as they locked onto his own, and Carl wanted nothing more than to run over and comfort her, to tell her that they were going to be okay, that they were going to get out of this mess somehow. But he couldn't even do that. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, eyeing the people surrounding her before averting his gaze back to her, knowing she would understand his message well enough. _Did they hurt you?_

She took in a deep breath, giving a small shake of her head in return, and Carl, for a moment, let himself feel relieved. Carl could only imagine how she must be feeling right now: probably terrified, no doubt worried that these people were going to kill her. Carl would like to think that they wouldn't, but he didn't even know the answer to that anymore. If they tried, Carl knew he would have to reveal himself. Despite the many _'I don't knows'_ of this whole situation, Carl knew that if his father knew it was him, that no harm would come to either him or Lydia. And if things did end up coming to that, he would do it without a second thought. He wasn't about to let Lydia die because he was _scared._

He just prayed that things wouldn't have to come to that.

"This one has been saying that she was the only one left of her group, we were planning on taking her back to Hilltop to interrogate her further, should we do the same for him?" Another person asked, taking a step forward. Carl felt as if he'd just been punched in the stomach and could barely breathe when he caught sight of her face in the growing shadows.

Michonne was here too? Fuck, who else was still alive from his old group.

At the moment, all he wanted to do was to run forward and hug her, to reveal himself, but he bit back that urge too. Despite how glad he was to see three members of his old group still alive, he had to be smart about this. If he made the slightest wrong move, one wrong decision, things could, and would, come toppling down faster than he could manage.

"Sounds like a plan," his father responded, and from the corner of his eye, Carl saw him glance back behind him, taking in the walkers that were now headed their way, "we should do it quickly, though. We don't have a lot of time."

There were a couple nods and murmurs of agreement at that from all the people around the bridge, and Carl let out a silent sigh of relief now knowing that they weren't going to kill him or Lydia. At least for now. But it was better than nothing.

Being taken prisoner was probably one of the better outcomes of this whole situation, one that Carl was already way too familiar with. So despite the hostile glares coming from his father and his people as they began to move, Carl forced himself to relax a little bit. Deflecting his gaze back to Michonne and Daryl, he desperately tried to ignore the feel of his father's gun still pressed into his back as well as the whirling feelings that were now stirring inside him: fear, confusion, happiness, hope...

He hadn't felt hope in a long time.

Carl tried to stamp it out as best he could. He shouldn't be _hoping_ for anything. Hope would only let him down, that was all it did. He couldn't dwell on the past, not now, he wasn't the same fourteen-year-old boy who ran to his father for every small thing, not anymore. He was Delta, fourth in command of the Whisperers, one of Alpha's most trusted, and a survivor. 

He took a deep breath, closing his eye.

He was a survivor.

Carl Grimes was dead, had been for years, he was Delta now -- nobody else. It had been years since he'd seen anyone from his family. And he wasn't that hopeful, naïve fourteen-year-old boy anymore: the one who thought that killing didn't have to be the answer to everything, the one that thought that everyone (or mostly everyone) deserved a chance in this world.

Carl wasn't that boy anymore, hadn't been for the longest of time. He had done what he had to in the past eight years to ensure his own survival. And while Carl wasn't at all proud of who he was now. He was alive. He was alive and breathing, and that was all that mattered at this point. 

What Carl had to do right now was put the boy who he used to be away, had to lock him in the strongest of cages, and throw away the key somewhere where he would never find it again. He had to become somebody else, somebody who was able to survive in this shitty, shitty world. He had to lock away his past and do what was best for him and Lydia.

He opened his eye, looking forward toward the darkening sky, his heart heavy.

He had to, or else it would kill him.


	3. Chapter 3

Carl had never been that much of a fan of riding horses; not even the end of the world could change that.

It wasn't that he didn't like them. No, it was nothing like that. Carl did like horses -- they were cool animals and all -- it was just that riding them wasn't exactly his cup of tea. Sure, he'd done it a few times before the world went to shit during the summer camps his parents used to send him to or his old (and probably dead) friend's birthday parties, but that was about it. And while he would occasionally feed the few horses that they had back at the prison or at the Greene's family farm, that was pretty much the extent of his interactions with them after the world had ended. 

There would also be times where the Whisperers would come across the occasional horse during their travels, but they would never ride them. Instead, they would usually just eat them. That was if the dead didn't get to them first, which most of the time they did.

Carl clung tightly to the horses' saddle, praying with every fiber of his being that he wasn't about to fall off of it. The horse he was riding was a black and white mare that one of the people in his father's group had brought with them before they came across him and Lydia at the bridge and Carl would be lying if he said he wasn't at least a little intimidated by it. The horse was a large one, and that did nothing to appease his ever-growing nerves as the horse moved steadily beneath him. For all he knew, the mare would just buck him off, or she might startle and start bucking, and falling off of a horse was not something he wanted to do. 

He'd already broken enough bones in his lifetime without a horses help, and he didn't want or need to break any more anytime soon, thank you very much. 

Carl took in a deep breath, trying desperately to calm the rapidly growing nausea that had begun bubbling up in his stomach. It was kind of sad, really: Carl had covered himself in walker's guts more times than he could count, had walked in the midst of walker herds hundred of times without a second thought, had murdered people left and right without mercy or questioning why he was even doing it, had eaten worms and all sorts of weird ass shit without batting an eyelash -- and yet he got queasy from riding a horse of all things? The irony of the whole situation almost made him want to laugh. Almost.

Soft voices emanated from all around him as he and Lydia were lead down the road on horseback, stumbling down the path incapable of seeing a single thing. The whispers were loud enough that he could still hear them but too quiet for him to make any sense of what they were saying, but despite this, it didn't take much effort at all to figure out what they were talking about. Or who, for that matter. Carl was many things, but stupid was not one of them, and it never would be.

He could easily distinguish Daryl and his father's voice somewhere in the fray, a little way to his right, but like with the others, he was only really able to make out a few words of it. Carl wished that he was still able to see what was going on, but both he and Lydia had been blindfolded moments before they had been forced onto the horses. So he was totally blinded, surrounded by darkness while he was quite possibly being lead to his death. Being in the dark was something Carl had hated since he was a kid, and he only started hating it even more once he had lost his eye. 

Suddenly, the horse he was on came to a halt, snorting as she did so and nickering softly. Carl tensed, fingers tightening around the saddle as the mare began to stomp her feet. He heard the people around him slow to a stop as well, their already quiet murmurs quieting all the more.

Carl shifted in the saddle, a faint feeling of dread washing over him.

"Benjamin!" He heard his father call out a moment or two later, the sound making him jump. "Open up the gates!"

Carl felt his pulse quicken -- they were here already? He glanced back, turning his head despite knowing he would only be greeted with darkness before whipping his head back around as another voice -- an unfamiliar one -- responded in a wary tone to his father's request.

"Who are they?" The voice male. Young, no doubt, probably around his age. But Carl didn't know. It would be easier for him to tell if he could see the man's face. 

"Hostages," his father responded, voice clipped, "tell Maggie and Glenn to get out here-" Holy hell, Maggie and Glenn were alive too? "-Jesus is dead!"

There was a pause, and Carl could hear the various shocked gasps coming from the other side of the wall. This Jesus person was no doubt important in some way to his father's group. Carl stamped down the thread of understanding that had begun forming in the pit of his stomach. He knew all too well how it felt to lose someone; pretty much everyone in this world did.

"H-how did it happen?" The man -- Benjamin -- called out, voice wavering as he spoke.

"We'll explain later," Carl heard Michonne say. There were a couple yelled out orders before there was the sound of grinding metal, one of the telltale signs of a gate being opened. The horses started moving once more, and his fingers only tightened around the saddle, but after a few moments, the horse stopped, and Carl heard the gate closing behind him as well as the sound of several people gathering somewhere nearby. He cringed at the sound, ducking his head and cursing softly under his breath.

Oh god, he hated big groups of people; loud ones especially.

Carl bit back a yelp as a hand grabbed him roughly by the arm, pulling him down from the horse without the slightest trace of gentleness - not that he was expecting it, he would be more surprised if they weren't being harsh. It was because of the Whisperers that their friend was dead after all, they had every right to be angry. So he didn't fight it, letting whoever was holding his arm wrestle him down from the horses' saddle before shoving him forward, hand still wrapped tightly around his arm with bruising force. It didn't take much longer for him to realize that it was Daryl who had grabbed him. 

He didn't get much time to think about this. The people surrounding them were shouting out questions at a rapid pace, and Carl cringed at the sheer volume of it all.

"Who are they?"

"What are they doing here?"

"What happened to Jesus?"

"Did they kill him?"

The questions went on and on and on -- each and every single one of them causing Carl to flinch back even more as he was dragged by the arm to wherever the hell Daryl was bringing him; Carl squeezed his eye shut, trying to regain control of his erratic breathing. He couldn't be panicking, not now. He didn't have the time to be panicking right now.

But as the people's shouting grew even louder question after question, he couldn't help but fold in on himself, wanting nothing more than to be anywhere but here.

"What the hell is going on here?!"

An unexpected quiet fell on the people almost instantly, and Carl allowed himself a quick moment of relief before the voice finally registered in his head. _Fuck, is that.. is that Maggie?_

"Maggie, Glenn," he heard Michonne say, "it's... a long story."

A long story indeed.

But holy fuck, Maggie was alive?! He remembered hearing her name earlier, but he had thought that maybe he had misheard. _And did she just say Glenn?_

Glenn was alive.

Glenn and Maggie were alive.

He honestly wasn't sure whether he wanted to be terrified by this turn of events, relieved by it, or both. 

He was leaning toward both.

"I'll explain it once we get these two into the cellar," his father responded. "But first, we need to interrogate them. Their people were the ones who killed Jesus, and we want answers, but after that..." There was a beat of silence, "we'll figure that out when we get to it."

There was a pause and then the sound of footsteps. "If you're going to interrogate them-" he heard Maggie say to his father, "-then I suggest you separate them first. Makes things much easier."

Carl felt his stomach drop at her words. No, no, no, no, no -- they weren't. They couldn't. He had promised himself that he was going to protect Lydia; that he was going to keep her safe. How the hell was Carl supposed to do that if he didn't even know where she was -- if he couldn't be there with her?

Carl faintly registered the voices swimming around him, too caught up in his fear to really listen, but before he knew it, Daryl had begun dragging him forward once more. Away from the crowd, but also away from Lydia.

Carl couldn't help it -- he panicked.

He dug his feet into the dirt, not that it did much -- he had always been pretty light compared to other men, so Daryl trudged on without much trouble. He heard Lydia cry out, and with a strangled yell, Carl exploded into a frenzy of flying fists and kicking, striking Daryl anywhere that he could reach with the blindfold still tight around his face. He heard the man curse, his grip tightening around his arm, but it didn't deter Carl. It only spurred him on. 

"I got it!" The man called out as a few people began to run forward to restrain Carl. "Fucking christ, stop squirmin' you piece of shit."

Carl ignored him. This situation had begun to remind him way too much of another one. One that he would have liked to forget but couldn't rid from his mind no matter how hard he tried.

Remembering a move he had used years before, Carl kneed the archer in the groin, and as expected, Daryl released him with a cry of pain, letting out a spew of violent curses as he stumbled back. Carl tumbled to the ground but got back to his feet in a matter of seconds.

He could hear the people beginning to panic around him, but Carl ignored it, darting backward. His back hit the wall, and he could feel his breath quickening as a pair of hands wrapped themselves around his shoulder. 

"NO!" He heard Lydia scream. "Please, don't hurt him! Delta, calm down, please!"

The hand yanked him forward, and panic shot a rush of adrenaline through him, and without a second thought, Carl whipped his head around and bit down as hard as he could on the person's hand. The metallic taste of blood flooded into his mouth almost immediately. A bloodcurdling scream sounded in the air, and the panic of the people around him only intensified. 

There were even more hands on him now, trying to pull him away, and if Carl were in a better state of mind, he would've let them. But he wasn't, and so Carl only bit down even harder, locking his jaw and trying not to flinch as more and more blood seeped into his mouth. It was a taste that Carl had become quite accustomed to over the years, be it from biting people -- which was something Carl did surprisingly often -- or eating something raw -- which Carl also did quite often. But despite this, he had never enjoyed it. Carl didn't even know if anyone _could_ enjoy it. 

Actually, wait, scrap that -- Alpha probably did. Beta too. And Lydia certainly didn't mind the taste, seeing as one of the first things she did upon meeting him was ask if she could touch his still healing eyesocket. (Granted, she was like nine, but he was pretty sure that he would not have done that when he was nine, so...)

"Get him off of me!" A voice shrieked, a familiar one, but Carl couldn't place where he'd heard it before. He didn't get the chance too.

His back was no longer at the wall anymore, and before he realized what was going on, somebody was coming up behind him, wrapping their arms around Carl's midsection and pulling him back. His teeth were still deep in the other person's hand, but as soon as the sharp edge of a knife was pressed to his throat, he froze.

"Let go of him now." His father hissed into his ear.

Carl's jaw went slack, dropping open seconds later. The hand was snatched away from him pretty much immediately, and the person he had bit was swearing violently, probably cradling their hand to their chest or something like that. That itself was almost enough to make Carl feel bad for biting someone in the first place. Keyword: almost. The fucker had been the one who grabbed him after all.

"Now, unless you want me to end you right here and now, I suggest you calm the hell down. Because if you try anything, and I mean _anything_ \- I will kill you. Got it?" Carl nodded -- well, as much as he could with the knife still pressed to his throat.

"Got it," he rasped.

His father didn't move much from where he was at Carl's back. But he did move the knife away from his throat, thankfully. The man sighed, turning his head to the side slightly, his breath hitting the side of Carl's neck. "Maggie, where do you want me to put him? Cellar or...?"

"There's a room in Barrington House you can put him in. It's secure enough, no windows for him to try and break through or anything like that." She responded from somewhere to Carl's right -- there's an odd emotion in her voice, but Carl remained unable to place it as she continued on. "The girl can go in the cellar."

Well, fuck. 


	4. Chapter 4

The next thing Carl knew, he was being shoved into a chair, blindfold ripped right off his head moments later. Carl shook his head, blinking blearily as the room came into view. He was in what looked like a bedroom of some sort. There wasn't all that much in it other than a desk and one bed in the corner, so he could only assume that it was currently unoccupied at the moment.

"No more of this bullshit," his father hissed, the blindfold held in his clenched hand. He threw the piece of fabric down to the ground, taking a few steps forward until he was looming above Carl. "Talk, now."

"Your name, start with your name," someone called out from the corner, and Carl fought the urge to laugh when he realized that it was Glenn. A little older, a little warier, a thin beard covering his mouth, but it was so unmistakeably Glenn. 

Good lord, this day was just full of surprises, wasn't it?

Glenn was clutching one of his hands to his chest -- it was bandaged, Carl realized after a moment or two. Blood oozed out from the wound, seeping through the white gauze that now encircled his hand. The realization dawned on him moments later.

Oh fuck, he had bitten Glenn? Of all the people, he had bitten _Glenn?!_

Oh god.

"My name is Delta." Carl responded once he had gotten over his shock. Daryl gave a small scoff from where he was leaning on the wall. 

"What the hell kind of a name is that?" The man sneered. "We mean your actual one, the one your folks gave you."

The question hit harder than expected, and Carl flinched: his face darkening. "Don't got one."

"What the hell do you mean you don't got a name? Of course, you have a fucking name!" Daryl snapped, pushing himself up and stalking forward. He hefted up his crossbow, the message clear. "Tell us your name. Now."

"It means that I don't have a goddamn name-" Carl spat, "-and even if I did, I haven't used it in years! None of us do. None of us did! That wasn't how it worked, not with us."

"Then how did it work?" His father demanded.

Carl shook his head, laughing bitterly. "You wouldn't understand."

His father leaned down, face mere inches away from Carl's and brought his hands down to each side of the chair, trapping him. Carl looked down at his lap, refusing to meet his father's gaze, his heart thundering loudly.

"Tell us!"

Carl opened his mouth, but no words could come out for a few seconds. "I don't-" he shook his head again, "-they were good people! We were good, and you just killed them! We just... we just wanted to live, that was all."

"You killed one of our own, tried to kill the rest of us, and you're saying that your good people?" Glenn asked incredulously, shaking his head in disbelief. "Christ man, you nearly ripped a chunk out of my hand, forgive me if I have a little trouble believing that."

"You wouldn't understand," Carl repeated in a whisper, his fists clenching at his sides. "You just wouldn't-"

"Then make us understand!" His father snapped, his voice rising in volume.

Carl flinched -- hating the way this whole thing was making him feel. It was kind of sad, really, that even eight years later, his father being mad at him still affected him so, so much. A small part of him kind of expected to be back at the prison, with his father scolding him about killing the boy who had been one of the Governor's people. Or maybe back at the farm when he yelled at Carol after Sophia came out of the barn. Or one of the other many instances where his father had been mad at him for something. 

"I don't know what they were doing," Carl cried out, "I was... I was supposed to be scouting ahead, nothing more. I didn't know that they were going to attack someone!"

"But you weren't surprised," it wasn't a question, but instead a statement. Carl hung his head, sighing softly.

"I..." he squeezed his eye shut, trying to regain control of his emotions. It was usually something he had no trouble with, so why was he having so much trouble with it now?

Suddenly, his father had him by the chin, his grip harsh and bruising. He yanked Carl's head up, forcing Carl to meet his eyes. When he didn't, pain exploded throughout the left side of his face, and it took Carl a few shocked moments to realize why.

His father had just hit him.

The realization knocked all the breath out of him, and slowly, he brought his hand to his cheek -- cringing as he felt the area that was already starting to bruise. His father had just hit him. Sure, he didn't realize that it was Carl, there was no way he could've known, but the shock and hurt are still there. His father had never done that before, and while Carl knew that if his dad had known that it was his son that he was with; that he would've never done it, the fact that it happened in the first place still caused a whole new brand of hurt rushing through him. One that wasn't caused by the bruise now forming on his cheek.

"I'll do it again," his father threatened, "and again, and again. But if you tell us what we need to know..." he trailed off, his message clear.

Carl swallowed, blinking away the unshed tears. This wasn't the same man he had known back at the prison. Sure, Carl had already known that from the moment he had first seen his father on the bridge, but this only made it seem so much more real to him than it had before. Because eight years ago, his father would not have laid a hand on a kid, and although Carl might not be a kid anymore, Lydia was, and who knew how long it might take for his father to realize that Lydia was the only way to get Carl to talk.

Hopefully he didn't realize at all. 

"Fuck you," he hissed. He closed his eye, waiting for the next strike to come, but instead, his father leaned back, eyes wide and looking as if he'd just been burnt. The reaction confused him a whole lot more than Carl would like to admit, and for a second, he wondered if he imagined it, but judging by the startled and confused looks on both Glenn and Daryl's faces, he hadn't. 

"I need..." his father shook his head, stumbling back, the blood draining out of his face, "I'm gonna go check on Michonne, see if they're doing any better with the girl," his voice was wobbling and rushed. His back hit the door, and the man swung around, flinging it open, darting out, and closing it with a loud bang. 

Silence, and then...

"The fuck?" Daryl look like he wanted to run out after his father, the look on his face both confused and flabbergasted, and he wasn't the only one. 

Glenn cleared his throat, "Should we... continue?"

Daryl sent him a glare, and Glenn muttered something under his breath before turning back to Carl.

"Okay, um..." he scratched the back of his head, sending a worried glance toward the door. "How many people in your group?"

"Me and her," Carl answered, still utterly baffled at what had just occurred.

Daryl snorted, head snapping in his direction, his attention now on Carl. "Oh, really?" Yeah, and we're gonna feed you fucking brownie sundae's and ice cream sandwiches' tomorrow." The man scoffed, shaking his head. "C'mon, least you could do is come up with somethin' that's believable instead of the bullshit that you're currently spewing out."

"Well, we used to have more," Carl snarked, "but guess what, someone killed them all." His eye widened dramatically, head tilting to the side as he pretended to think about something, "oh wait, that was you, my bad."

The man growled, stalking forward until he was mere inches away from Carl. He was clearly done with Carl's bullshit, not that he was surprised. Carl knew that the man had a bullshit detector better than anyone else he knew. Even Alpha's, and that was saying something because that woman had a terrifyingly accurate bullshit detector.

With a lunge, Daryl took out a knife, pressing it right up against Carl's neck. "How. Many. People?!"

"Daryl, man, what the fuck?" Glenn shouted. "You're not supposed to kill him, remember?"

Daryl just ignored him, "answer me!"

Carl only sighed, leaning his head back and eyeing the knife with an expression of boredom and annoyance on his face. "Listen, I'm trying my best to be polite here-" Daryl scoffed, "-but I swear to god, if you move than knife an inch closer to me, I will rip your throat out. I've done it before, worse even.

"No shit," he heard Glenn mutter.

Daryl let out another growl, one that was eerily reminiscent to that of a dog's and dragged the knife upward, brushing the hair in Carl's face aside and tracing his empty eyesocket with the tip of his blade. Carl flinched back at the unexpected movement, but didn't give any other reaction, or at least, not the one that Daryl probably had wanted.

"What the hell happened here?" 

Carl hated remembering the day that he lost his eye. Hated it with a fiery passion for multiple reasons.

One, he had his fucking eye shot out, which was kind of self explanatory. Two, he had lost two of his friends that day because of some assholes. Three, he was nearly raped by said assholes. And four...

And four was because him losing his eye was the reason he had joined Alpha in the first place. But it was also a good thing too because he wouldn't have met Lydia if he hadn't joined Alpha. And Lydia was one of his closest friends. 

"Why does it matter?" Carl sneered. 

Daryl gripped his knife tighter, not bothering to respond to Carl's question, and ran the blade lightly up to his other eye, and began just barely tracing the outside of it. "I'll cut the other one out," the man threatened, digging the knife in a little deeper. "I'll cut it out, and we'll throw you out there for the walkers to finish off. How does that sound?"

Carl noted the faint trickle of blood that had begun running down the side of his face but ignored it in favor of looking Daryl right in the eye. "You think that you're the first one to threaten to do that?" He asked lowly, voice not wavering. "Cause guess what, your not. If I could get a dollar for every time some asshole has said that to me, I'd be rich. Not that money matters much these days." 

Daryl leaned back, eyeing Carl with a look of pure annoyance in his eyes. There's something else hidden in there too: recognition? Confusion? Anger? He hoped it was one of the last two. The last thing he need was for Daryl to figure out who he was.

The man tucked his knife back into his belt, eyes not leaving Carl's. "We're coming back later, so don't get too comfy."

The archer stood up, making a motion toward Glenn before stalking out the door, shoulders hunched and muttering something undoubtedly foul under his breath. Glenn glanced back at Carl, an uncertain look in his eyes. Carl sighed, looking away.

"In my defense, I wasn't actually there when your friend was killed." He said, reading the look on the man's face like it was a book. It wasn't a lie, but he knew it would do little to ease Glenn's doubts about him. "And I'm pretty sure that was Gamma."

"Gamma?" Glenn echoed, looking a little miffed at his words. Carl couldn't help but wince, nearly slapping himself when he realized that the guy who killed -- Jesus -- was probably a friend of Glenn's. Or at least a valuable member of this community.

"The guy who killed your friend, his name was Gamma, or at least, I think. I dunno." Carl explained, shrugging. For all he knew, one of the other people in Gamma's group had killed Jesus. "A bit of an asshole, really. Never liked him much."

"Was? That mean he's dead?" There was a hint of satisfaction in Glenn's voice, and it didn't take a genius to figure out why.

Carl shrugged again. "He was killed at the bridge," yet another lie, albeit a harmless one, "eaten by w-" he paused, it probably wasn't the best idea to call them walkers in front of Glenn, "the dead ones. He had an arrow in his knee, so I'm assuming that was what caused it."

"Good, fucker deserved it," Carl jumped in fright, his head whipping around in the direction of the voice. Daryl was glaring at him from the doorway, taking both Carl and Glenn by surprise. Jesus, he hadn't even heard him open the door. "Now, are you going to spend the whole time loitering around talking to the enemy, or are you going to come to Maggie's office? We have a lot to talk about." He was directing the last bit toward Glenn, who heaved a sigh, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. No need to be so weird about it." Glenn mumbled under his breath, and Carl couldn't help but crack a small smile. It was good to see that some things still hadn't changed despite the time that had passed. "Just give me a sec," Daryl huffed, turning away, the door shutting behind him seconds later. 

Glenn looked back at Carl, not moving toward the door quite yet. The man's eyebrows furrowed, and a frown marred his face. "How old are you?" He asked after a few long moments of this.

"What the fuck does my age have to do with anything?" Carl retorted. Why couldn’t he just leave him alone?

Glenn shrugged, obviously not surprised by Carl's words, "just curious, I guess. You look pretty young."

Carl huffed at that, "how the fuck am I supposed to know? Haven't really been keepin' track."

"How old were you when this started?" Glenn asked, cocking his head.

Carl eyed the man uncertainly, unsure of whether or not he should tell him. It wasn't like there would be very much harm in telling Glenn. There was a very little chance that Glenn could realize it was him if he learned his age. 

"Twelve." He said slowly. "I was twelve."

A thoughtful expression crossed over his face, "you're twenty-one or twenty-two then, maybe twenty-three if we're pushing it." He said decidedly, and Carl scoffed at the blatant sadness in the man's voice. 

"As if it matters, you'll be killing me either way." 

Glenn frowned at this but didn't bother saying anything else. He headed toward the door, opening it slowly and swinging it shut behind him. The door closed with a smaller slam than it had with Daryl's and his dad's, but the noise still sounded so incredibly loud in the empty room. 

But it didn't matter now, none of it does. Because now, Carl was all alone with only his whirling thoughts and demons to keep him company.


	5. Chapter 5

After the prison fell, Rick had escaped with Michonne. He had thought that Judith was dead, and he had no idea what had happened to Carl. At first, Rick had hoped that Carl managed to escape with someone else at the prison: Maggie, Glenn, Daryl, maybe even Tyreese or Sasha, but Rick soon learned that the opposite was true. His son had escaped both alone and injured -- according to Daryl, who was the last person who saw him -- and nobody knew whether he was alive or dead. 

Rick had been insistent on leaving signs for Carl to find, both before and after he and Michonne found the rest of the group. He had carved his son's name into trees, wrote messages to him in walker blood on the side of any surface he could find. Rick knew it was dangerous, advertising their path to anyone looking for trouble, but he was determined to find his son, and if taking risks was the price for that, then so be it.

But no matter what Rick did: no matter how many signs he left behind, how many times he carved his son's name into trees along the road, no matter how many times he left messages written in walker blood -- Rick never found him. He found his daughter, he found the rest of his family, but through it all, he never found his son.

Daryl had come to him soon after they had retrieved Beth from Grady, he told him that he'd seen Carl escape the prison -- that he'd saved the obviously injured boy from walkers before losing sight of him soon after. He said that he and Beth had tried to go back to the prison to track Carl down, but hadn't succeeded. There had been a look of guilt on his face as he admitted this as if he blamed himself for Rick losing his son, and honestly, Rick wouldn't be surprised if he had. 

* * *

He had stopped looking after Grady. After they had gotten Carol and Beth out of Dawn's clutches. 

Maybe it was because it had already been months since the prison fell. 

Maybe it was because he realized that even if Carl was alive, that he was nowhere near them.

Maybe he had finally realized that it was no use, that Carl was more likely than not dead in a ditch somewhere. 

It didn't stop him from feeling guilty about it. What if Carl was out there somewhere? What if he had found Rick's signs and followed them to the Church only for there to be no more left? All these possibilities had whirled around in his head for months, and months, and months, and it drove Rick insane.

But maybe he already was from the start.

* * *

He started having nightmares after that. He pictured his son being consumed by the dead, screaming as he was devoured by gnashing teeth and mouths dripping in red. Or sometimes it was him getting shot in the head by one of the Governor's people. Sometimes it's him being killed in one of the explosions. Sometimes Rick was there, standing helpless as he watched his son die in a million ways. Sometimes Carl knows that Rick is there, and he stared silently up at him, and Rick can see the fear in his eyes and knows that he is in so much pain, but he just can't help him.

Sometimes he's pleading, begging for Rick to help him. And sometimes he hates him, he can see it in his eyes. He mouths it to him, even if he is unable to speak, and Rick understood why. It was his fault. Rick lost his son because of his own mistakes. It was his fault, he killed him. 

_I hate you,_ Carl mouths to him in his nightmares. He stared up at him with an expression of hate, blood pooling out from beneath him. And even if he's unable to speak at all, his words always reach Rick. They circle in his mind, repeating themselves like a broken record, and it never stops, no matter how long its been. 

_You killed me, Dad, you killed me. You killed me, and I hate you. I'm dead because of you. Did you even try to find me? Did you ever look?_

_Did you even care?_

* * *

Sometimes he sees the Governor killing him.

Sometimes he sees the walkers killing him.

Sometimes it's so much worse.

Sometimes he's able to see Carl escaping the prison, only to run into more walkers. Sometimes he runs into the Claimers, and Rick is forced to watch as they rape and torture him. Sometimes Carl runs into Negan, and Rick has to watch as his son's head is bashed in. Sometimes his son runs into the people at Terminus, sometimes the ones at Grady, and sometimes he's just alone.

Sometimes he sees him escape the prison, and he sees him live instead of dying in some horrible way. He sees him find a group, one that's able to protect him better than Rick ever did and start a community, and he sees Carl happy. He sees him finding love and raising children. And as rare as the happy dreams are in the hundreds of nightmares that he has, they're always his favorite ones.

* * *

Two weeks after Grady, Rick officially began to lose his mind.

Carl began to come to him, appearing in more than just his nightmares, but in the waking world as well.

He started seeing his son everywhere he went, when they were walking or when he was talking with Daryl or Michonne or holding Judith in his arms. He's forever in the corner of his eye, always just out of Rick's reach, watching him with a sad expression on his face.

Sometimes, Rick hears him. Hears him calling his name, hears him screaming, hears his laugh carried to him by the wind.

Sometimes he's there with Lori: mother and son standing side by side. 

Sometimes he's with Shane, other times he's with Dale, Sophia, or Hershel. But usually, he's alone. 

* * *

He hardly let Judith out of his sight.

Sometimes he refused to let her leave his arms.

Nobody got irritated with him about it -- nobody got mad that he was hogging their favorite little girl all to himself. They understood why he was doing it, but they never said a word to him about it.

He didn't know whether to be thankful or guilty.

* * *

Judith's first word was Carl.

He can't remember what they had been doing, but he did remember that he had a picture in his hands, one of him, Lori, and Carl while Judith sat in his lap, gnawing on her hand. 

The next thing he knew, Judith was reaching out, pointing to the picture with an excited look on her face. Her finger lands on Carl's face: _Carl,_ she cried out, _Carl!_

Rick felt like he'd just taken a shovel to the head, stunned into silence, nearly falling out of his chair. And when Judith repeated his name again, Rick just held her close, buried his face into her hair, and wept.

* * *

They cross through the state line, and Rick's mind immediately wanders to Carl.

He had stood there, frozen on the asphalt, staring at the sign as his thoughts whirled.

Judith started babbling impatiently in his arms, and the others began to turn back. Suddenly realizing that he was no longer with them. That something was wrong. But that wasn't a surprise; something was always wrong these days. He sees the understanding immediately fill Michonne's eyes, and he saw her approach him from the corner of his eye. 

"He should be here." He had whispered to her. 

"I know," she had said, tears filling her eyes. "Trust me, Rick. I know."

She then hugged him, careful of Judith, who was still squirming in his arms, and Rick let her. Too emotionally exhausted to do anything else. He just needed Carl to be here -- he just wanted to see him again. He yearned to hug him again, to hold him close, to beg for forgiveness, and to never let go. Rick wished for so many things, things that he knew he couldn't have, but he couldn't stop.

He was always wishing for Carl. Every day, every night, every second of every hour. 

There was the joyful sound of his laughter that reached his ears moments later, and Rick, from over Michonne's shoulder, could see him standing by the sign only a few feet away.

Rick felt as if he'd just been punched. He had yet to see more than a glimpse of him, no more than the brim of his hat and the tips of his hair before he disappeared from view. But now, he could see him clear as day. Whole and untouched, standing there and smiling like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He had his hands on his hips, head tilted back as the hat -- the one that Rick gave him -- shadowed his face. There was no blood on his clothes, no dirt or mud or anything like that. He looked just as he had before the prison fell, only cleaner with a brow raised and his blue eyes wide as they regarded him curiously, a smile breaking across his face as Rick's eyes landed on him.

"C'mon Dad! Hurry up! We don't have forever, y'know!" He called out, turning his head as he walked toward him. He stopped just behind Michonne, and Judith reached out a hand almost as if she could see him too, crying out his name once more.

With one last laugh, his son disappeared from view. 

* * *

Something that Rick began to realize after they crossed the state line was that Carl would only come to him when he was alone. So Rick started going off alone.

He usually brought Judith with him, still unable to put her down. And Carl would simply sit next to him -- to them -- sometimes he wouldn't say a word, they just sat together in silence. Other times they would talk for hours and hours, about every small thing, about how much Judith was growing, about how close Beth and Daryl seemed to be getting; they talked about nothing and everything all at the same time. 

Rick could never care what they were doing or talking about; it was enough to just see Carl there, to hear his voice even if he knew deep down that he wasn't actually there.

Rick said sorry so many times, he begged for his son's forgiveness every time. And every time Carl would just give him this sad smile, and it would only break Rick's heart all the more.

One day, Michonne stumbled upon them while Rick was once again begging for Carl's forgiveness. He had stopped mid word once he had noticed her there, turning to look at her from over Carl's shoulder with wide eyes. Judith had started babbling excitedly upon seeing her, reaching out her arms, and calling out Michonne's name.

Michonne had smiled at the little girl before looking at Rick. "We need to go." She had said. 

"Give me a second," Rick replied, his gaze moving back to where Carl sat, staring at him with curious blue eyes.

Michonne pursed her lips, nodding slowly as her eyes raked over the three of them sitting on the forest floor.

No, watching him and Judith.

Carl wasn't really there. Rick had to keep reminding himself of that, but it got harder to do that as the days wore on.

Either way, Michonne had left, a sad look on her face as she turned her back to him and made her way back to the group.

* * *

When Aaron had come to them, Rick's first instinct was to kill him and move on with their travels. But he didn't. Instead, he let Aaron live.

If anyone other than Michonne or Daryl had asked, Rick would've said the thing that stopped him was the rest of the group. That they needed somewhere safe where they could finally rest. That Judith needed someplace where she could grow up without the constant threat of walkers or people killing her when her back was turned. And while all of those were true in some ways, none of them were the main reason why he kept Aaron alive.

It had been Carl.

He kept thinking about how Carl would've reacted if he were there. What he would've done. He began to realize that his son would've wanted to give the place a chance, and so that was what Rick decided to do. 

As he had been talking to Aaron -- interrogating him, really -- Carl had been watching from the corner of the barn, completely silent and not really there, but Rick could still see him, watching his every move. 

When they had made it to the gates of Alexandria, Carl appeared once again from behind him. The only thing that warned Rick of his presence was the soft whisper of his name as well as Judith suddenly babbling out Carl's name. 

He had spun around within seconds from where he now stood at the back of the group, his heart plummeting as he registered the bittersweet smile on Carl's face. Something was wrong.

"Carl." he had whispered, in a voice so low only he and Judith could hear it. He had taken a step in Carl's direction, but his son simply shook his head, and Rick watched in horror as his form began to flicker.

"I can't go in there with you, Dad." He said sadly, his voice sending a thousand small daggers through Rick's heart. "I can't stay with you."

"Please," he had begged, his voice breaking, "don't leave me, I can't leave you... not again."

"Rick?" 

Michonne was calling out to him, standing right at the outside of the gates, staring at him with a knowing look in her eyes. Everyone else was already inside and were all now waiting for him. 

He looked back, only to find Carl gone. 

* * *

Rick wouldn't speak for days.

Wouldn't eat, wouldn't sleep, wouldn't drink, or really even do anything other than hold and take care of Judith. 

He had left him. He had abandoned his son again.

He left him. 

He put on a display -- a mask -- and acted as if everything was normal -- as if everything was okay when really it wasn't. He knew that he wasn't fooling anyone, except maybe the Alexandrians, but he didn't care. He didn't care because his mind was always on Carl. On how he had failed him once again. The only other thing that occupied his mind was Judith.

_Carl wouldn't want this,_ Michonne said to him one day.

_Please, Rick, you need to be strong, if not for you, then for him, for Judith..._ said Glenn the next.

Day after day, somebody would approach him, try to snap him out of the haze that engulfed his mind. And day after day, they all failed.

_He'd want you to keep living._

_He might still be alive._

_We never found out for sure._

_We never found a body._

_Carl could still be out there._

_Maybe he's still alive?_

The words echoed in his head, again and again, and again. Playing continually like a broken record, one that Rick wasn't planning on fixing anytime soon.

But in the end, it was Carol who finally got to him.

"I know how it feels," she had said, words angry and sad, but there was something else in there too: understanding. "And I'm not going to tell you any of the things that you told me when Sophia went missing, Carl might be dead, but he might not be. It doesn't get any easier, you'll always be wondering, but either way, you need to snap out of it, Rick. If I can do it, then so can you." 

Michonne came to him the next day and told him about Andre, and Abraham did something similar the day after that. 

And they were right -- it never got better, at least, not totally, a part of Rick would always be wondering about his son's fate, about what had happened after the prison attack, but he saved those moments for when he was alone. Because Rick still had Judith, he had Michonne, and later on, he had RJ, and he would protect this family until the day he died. 

He would do what he wasn't able to do with Carl.

* * *

He had burst into tears the first time he held RJ.

He was little, smaller than Judith had been as a newborn, wrinkly and wailing at the top of his lungs, eyes squeezing shuts and arms flailing. And for a split second, Rick had gone back eighteen years, had seen Carl in his arms instead of RJ. And it had broken his heart even more.

He cradled RJ to his chest and gently shushes him like he'd done so many times before. RJ's nose scrunches up, but he quiets down, nuzzling his face into Rick's chest, and the sight has him melting. 

He can't tear his gaze away from him, entranced at the sight of him. Michonne rested her head on Rick's shoulder, smiling down at their son tiredly. 

"He's beautiful," she whispered.

Rick smiled softly, nodding. 

"He is, he looks like you."

She laughed, kissing his cheek. "Yeah, but he has your nose."

"Mhm, I can see he's also cursed with my hair, too." He teased. 

"How horrible," Michonne said with a laugh.

He passed RJ into Michonne's arms, watching with a smile as their son stretched in her arms, nuzzling his small face into her chest.

"I wish they were here." Michonne said quietly. "Carl and Andre, they would've loved him."

Rick nodded, "yeah... Carl used to beg Lori and me for a little brother." 

"Andre did the same," Michonne told him, smiling sadly, "he would've loved to know he is one now." 

They sat there in silence for a few moments, but then Judith barged in, Daryl and Beth at her heels, and the silence was broken, instead filled with love and laughter.

* * *

Time passed by while Rick and Michonne watched their children grow.

Judith has Rick's bravery, Michonne's quick thinking, Lori's sass, and her brother's heart. Something that always sent a pang through Rick's heart whenever he saw it. She grew taller as the years pass by, her soft blonde curls slowly turning to a dark brown as her eyes darken to a deep hazel. She looked more and more like Lori and Carl every day, and it's something that breaks his heart and heals it at the same time.

It's hard to believe that Judith was once that little baby he held all those years ago. No longer the little girl who cried and wailed back at the prison. She's her own person, a little girl with a mind of her own. She's tougher than most children should be at her age, warier too, but there's a shine in her eyes, a hopefulness that not many had these days. There was so much innocence still in her heart, and Rick wanted to reserve it as long as he could. He wanted to do what he couldn’t with Carl.

RJ was his own person now too. A little boy with his mother's eyes and laugh but his father's thick curls and bright smile. His favorite color is green, sometimes blue; fruits are his favorite food -- apples in particular. He's a cheerful little boy who loved to draw with his sister and the other kids, read stories with his mother, and sing songs with his father. There are times where he and Judith reminded Rick so much of Carl that it hurt, but Michonne is right there along with him, and things hurt a little less whenever she's with him.

One day, Michonne told the two of them about Andre, and the next, Rick told them about Carl.

Nowadays, the two of them love listening to stories about their brothers. They beg for them, asking what they were like and what they liked to do. Rick and Michonne tell them, despite how much it hurt. And when the day finally comes that they ask what happened to them, they tell them.

Judith's first thought after she's told is: "Could Carl be alive then?" 

Rick faltered at this, and Michonne was the one who responded, saying that yes, he could be. But he also could not be. Rick left the room soon after, grabbing the crinkled photo he still kept of Carl before coming back in and showing them. They look delighted and study the picture, asking questions, and pointing out details until they get tired.

Not for the first time, Rick wished that Carl could meet them.

* * *

He doesn't know what to think the first time he saw the stranger at the bridge.

He supposed it was along the lines of: _oh, another enemy,_ or something like that, but he doesn't know. He can't remember, not really.

The stranger had sounded young, his voice achingly familiar, and when Rick had him take off his mask, the first thing he had seen was Carl.

The similarities were shocking: the same slender frame, same dark brown hair, same shockingly blue eyes -- or eye. Rick shook his head, and he suddenly saw the differences too. The stranger was missing an eye, there was some kind of burn scar on his left cheek, he's covered in all sorts of mud and blood, his hair was darker -- nearing black instead of brown -- and he's staring at Rick with a look of fear and confusion in his eyes. And Rick knew then and there that this wasn't his son, that he was simply imagining things that weren't there. 

But Michonne saw it too, as did Daryl. He saw the shocked looks on their faces when they caught sight of the stranger before they managed to wipe them away. They had mistaken him for Carl as well, but Rick knew that it couldn't be his son.

Carl was most likely dead. He had accepted that fact years ago. Carl would have said something, would have said something to Rick if it was him. Those are the reasons he used -- how Rick tried to convince himself he was simply imagining things. But there continued to be that thread of doubt in him as Rick continued to stare at the stranger, now being led on horseback, his face pale as a sheet. He tore his eyes away, sighing as Daryl came up next to him.

The thoughts still and will continue to haunt him, Rick knows that. All the what-if's and maybe's will stick to him like glue, and no matter how much he tried, he would remain unable to get rid of them.

The thing is, he's not sure if he wanted too.

* * *

He regretted hitting him the moment he'd done it.

He had hit people before; it wasn't new: the Governor, Negan, Shane, many others who attacked him. He'd hit those men without feeling a shred of remorse about it, but the moment he struck the stranger, he saw Carl in his place.

"I'll do it again," he had said. He had no idea why he did, Rick didn't want to hit him again, but he said it anyway. "And again, and again. But if you tell us what we need to know..." 

"Fuck you," the stranger had hissed, squeezing his eye shut as if he were expecting another blow. But the words had frozen him in his spot. His vision blurred, and suddenly, the stranger wasn't sitting there at all -- it was Carl. 

Rick stumbled back as soon as he saw it, shaking his head as he tried to clear his mind, to get rid of the image now in front of him. He was going crazy, wasn't he? This is all yet another fucked up hallucination that his mind decided to cook up just to fuck with him. 

Carl's face changed again, and the stranger was back in the chair, staring at him with a baffled expression on his face. He could feel Glenn and Daryl's eyes burning into his back, equally as confused by his behavior as the stranger was. But Rick doesn't care. Everything is fuzzy, his ears feeling as if they were stuffed with cotton, a thin sheet between reality and his impossible hallucinations.

He didn't think about it. He just bolted.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning: This chapter will contain mentions of assault, sexual and otherwise. It won't be graphic, but I just wanted to warn anyone who might be sensitive to these themes before you read this chapter.

_He had taken it all for granted._

_He had rolled his eyes and complained whenever his mother scolded him for not doing his chores, had sulked and whined whenever his dad had to go off to work again despite knowing that the man didn't have a choice in the matter. Even when the world had gone to shit, he still hadn't stopped, or at least, not at first._

_He had been a whiny brat whenever the adults hadn't let him help them. Had caused more harm than good when it came to the wellbeing of the group. He had gotten Dale killed, and probably many others as well. He had gotten shot while looking for Sophia, and maybe if he hadn't, then perhaps Daryl, Shane, and his dad might have found her in time to save her from the walkers. If Carl hadn't insisted on going with them, or if his mom and dad had refused to let him go, then maybe Carol would still have her daughter. And even when Judith had been born (when his mom had died), he had learned a little. But he even then, he hadn't stopped._

_He had relied on everyone else in the group to stay alive. Sure, he could kill walkers without much trouble, could do a bit of patrolling, but when it came to cooking and cleaning and things like that, he was practically useless, and that had nearly cost him his life in the long run. His father had rarely let him go out on runs, and when he had, the man hardly let him do anything but stay on watch and wait for the others to do the hard stuff. His father's protectiveness had made him bitter and resentful -- he had yelled at his father and many others on more than one occasion in various bouts of spite and anger, and in the end, he had regretted it all, so, so much._

_One night, sometime after he had escaped the prison, while he lay curled up high in a tree waiting for sleep to come, he had closed his eyes and cried for what felt like hours. He had sobbed and sniffled, fourteen-year-old pride be damned, because he missed his dad, he missed his little sister, he missed the rest of his family, so, so, so much. He had been hungry, cold, and alone, and all he wanted to do was be back in his father's arms once again._

_(And he had been scared: so, so, so scared.)_

_He had always hated the fact that his father had been so protective of him. Hated that his father insisted on treating him like he was some fragile, weak kid who was in need of his constant protection. But at that very moment, Carl would take all the coddling in the world if it meant that he didn't have to be alone anymore. If he could see his father smile with pride at something he or Judith did, or see Judith giggling and playing with her toys, if he could hear Beth and Maggie sing once more or hear yet another one of Glenn's stupid jokes... Carl would do absolutely anything if it meant he could see his family again._

_(He would've done anything. But apparently, that wasn't enough)_

_And when Carl woke the next morning, body stiff and sore and tired from a horrible night's sleep, he would climb down from the tree he had been sleeping in. Carl would continue on, scavenging from towns and houses he stumbled across down the road, would fight for his life every hour of every single day until night fell, and when that happened, he would find some sort of shelter to spend the night. Carl would repeat that process over and over again, gathering what little supplies he could until something finally changed._

_And change it did._

* * *

_(He had taken it all for granted.)_

The door closed with a slam, Glenn disappeared behind it, and Carl was left all alone in the room with his thoughts as his only company.

He stayed in that chair in the middle of the room for a few long moments, just staring at the door in total silence as his thoughts whirled around his head in a constant circle. Carl sighed, rubbing at his wrists, which were still sore from the restraints his father had used to tie them together. One of his fingers grazed over a thick, faded scar on his right wrist, and the phantom ache he felt at the small touch made him scowl. Then, he reached up a hand, gingerly touching the bruise on his cheek, cringing at the slight pain that it caused. His mind was still spinning from all that had happened in the past few hours: finding out his dad was alive, finding out that Daryl, Glenn, Maggie, and Michonne were alive, getting taken hostage by them of all things... this was really turning out to be one crazy ass day. 

Not that he was unfamiliar with days being crazy, having a calm day nowadays was honestly quite rare. Actually, now that he thought about it, he probably hadn't had a single peaceful day since the prison fell. But still, out of all of them, this was definitely turning out to be one of his more crazier ones. One that he wouldn't be surprised if it turned out to be a dream after all.

_(Was it wrong that a part of him was hoping that it was all a dream?)_

He looked around the small room, letting his hand fall back to his side and blinking in surprise when he realized that this was probably the cleanest room he'd been in since the prison fell. There was a bit of dust scattered across pretty much every surface of the place, but that was practically nothing compared to all the blood, corpses, and all sorts of weird shit he'd seen in various rooms and buildings over the years. There was a bed in one corner of the room, a desk in the other with a mirror stationed right above it as well as a few pictures hung up on the walls, and Carl couldn't help but get up, moving toward the photos to see them closer. He reached up a hand, finger tracing the old copper frame of one of the pictures that showed a beautiful beach that was teeming with people. 

Had to have been taken before everything went to shit, no doubt. Carl couldn't recall the last time he'd seen so many people in one place, or the last time he'd been to a beach for that matter. Had to have been before everything went to shit because nowadays, to see that many people in one place was only possible in communities, the large ones, not the small ones like the one he was currently in. And all beaches nowadays were empty and dead, either filled with walkers or totally void of any life whatsoever.

His parents used to bring him to pools and beaches all the time. He used to love swimming. He had forgotten that over the past few years, but he remembered it now.

Carl shook his head, swearing softly under his breath. He moved toward the desk next: opening and closing various drawers to see if he could find anything of use in them. There was nothing. It seemed that the people here had taken pretty much anything that could be considered useful out of the drawers. The only thing he found other than a bunch of dust was a single paperclip, which he could use to pick the lock, but even if Carl managed to do that, what if there was somebody stationed outside the room? Plus, even if Carl did manage to get out of the room without any trouble, which he doubted could happen -- how would he find Lydia? He had no clue where she was, and he wasn't about to escape and leave her here all alone.

He would do many horrible and unsavory things without batting an eye or feeling a shred of remorse, but abandoning his only friend was not and never would be one of them.

He put the paperclip in his pocket anyway, just in case. He then looked up, prepared to take a step back when he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. His eye widened, and he stopped in his tracks. It had been at least three or four years since Carl bothered looking at his appearance aside from the occasional glimpse in various rivers they passed -- it hadn't mattered much to him before; all that mattered was surviving. But seeing himself now, Carl suddenly understood all too well why his father -- as well as Daryl, Maggie, Glenn, and Michonne for that matter -- were now unable to recognize him.

Because when he looked up at the mirror, there was a stranger looking back at him.

Carl could hardly breathe.

Sure, while Carl had already known that he looked nothing like the boy he'd been eight years ago -- Carl hadn't realized just how much he'd changed over the years until now. He hadn't even recognized himself for a second there, and that fact scared him much more than he'd like to admit.

Carl tilted his head, reaching out a hand to brush away some of the dust from the mirror. Like expected, his face was coated with dirt -- a side effect of living out in the wild for so long, he supposed. Even if Carl had bathed only a couple days ago. A few splatters of blood were dotting Carl's cheek, but whether it was from a walker, human, or an animal of some kind, he didn't know. His hair went just past shoulder length at this point, curling slightly at the bottom like it had when he was younger and was probably long enough to put into a ponytail or bun of some kind, but that was not what made him so unrecognizable. His hair was most likely the most recognizable thing about him, the exception being his father's hat, which was tucked away in one of his bags back at camp, untouched for several years and probably covered in all sorts of dust, dirt, and grime as of now.

_God, he would never recognize me._

_None of them would._

Hell, he wasn't even able to recognize himself.

His eye was then drawn to his empty eyesocket. And then to the left side of his face where the burn on his cheek was. He reached up a hand to touch it, catching sight of the equally as burnt skin that was on his arm: a white, vein-like structure that started at his wrist, covering over half of his arm and climbing up to his shoulder and under his shirt to the bottom of his neck, spreading across the left side of his body like a virus in multiple -- nearly indecipherable -- patterns akin to lightening. He grimaced, pulling his hand away from his face and scowling.

Carl had just about forgotten they were there -- it had been so long since he last looked at them; since someone had mentioned them; since he had even thought about them. But now that he did, Carl knew that, without a doubt, there was no way that his father could ever recognize him with the way that he looked now. Carl looked nothing like he had eight years ago when the prison first fell or even ten years ago when the world first went to shit, nothing like that little boy he had once been, the one that his father knew and raised. Carl just wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not.

He wanted his father to recognize him, but he didn't want him to see the monster that he's become.

He could only imagine how his dad would react: horrified, no doubt.

Carl tore his eye away from the mirror, inhaling sharply. He didn't even want to imagine how that conversation might go, didn't want to picture the look of disappointment and disgust on his father's face when he's realized what his son has become over the past few years. Carl turned away from the desk, running a hand through his hair and wincing as it got caught in one of the many tangles it had. When was the last time he'd even had it cut? Or brushed it for that matter?

Carl couldn't remember. He knew that he'd probably tried brushing it sometime after he had joined Alpha, but after a while, Carl had just given up on it. Lydia was probably the last one to cut it, seeing as he refused to let anyone else other than Beta hold scissors or anything remotely sharp anywhere near the back of his head. But that had to have been at least a year or two ago.

_Mom would have a fit if she could see me now._

Carl pushed that thought away, ignoring the pang of grief churning in his stomach -- he didn't want to think about his mother right now; it would only make things worse at this point, only make him more emotional. So instead, Carl focused his mind on other things. He walked over to the other side of the room, eyeing the small window that was placed above the bed. It was too small for him to even attempt to crawl through, so he didn't really spare much thought in trying to get out that way. _Wait, do I even want to escape?_ He worried his bottom lip, suddenly unsure.

He hadn't even thought about it -- what he wanted to do now. He had been way too caught up in trying not to panic or cry or give himself away in some way to really think about what he wanted to do. The answer should've been obvious, and it was. But despite him telling himself this, it didn't stop the thread of uncertainty that had wormed its way into his brain.

He had just found his family, the one he had spent so long grieving for. So... did he even _want_ to go back to Alpha?

_(Should he go back?)_

Alpha wasn't the best person in the world -- he knew that. She was no saint, the opposite, really. She was a murderer: a coldhearted, cruel, and vicious woman. She killed for fun, for the simple sake of watching the life leave people's eyes -- and to strike fear in others. She wasn't known for being merciful, fair, or kind. She had struck him on multiple occasions, had given him and plenty of others -- including Lydia -- countless scars whenever they failed to follow orders, and even killed some of her people when they failed a mission badly enough.

But... she had also saved his life, had accepted him into her ranks when many others would have just left him out in the woods to die. And who wasn't a murderer these days? Babies probably, but even then, they would have to grow up and be forced to kill someone eventually. It was either that or die. The ones who refused to kill others were the ones who died. The ones who killed were the ones who lived. It was an unfair system, but it was the truth.

_(And sometimes the truth hurt)_

But this was his _family,_ for christ's sake! This was his family that he'd just been taken hostage by, the family who Carl hadn't seen in almost a full decade, the one who he had spent so long looking for but never could find, the family who he thought was _dead._ So what if he didn't want to go back to Alpha? What if he just revealed himself and told his dad everything that he wanted to know and just stay with him?

_But why would you do that? They abandoned you --_ a voice that sounded eerily similar to Alpha's sneered into his head -- _they left you for dead, so do you really think that they care about_ **_you?_ ** _Who were the ones who left you, Delta? And who was the one who saved you?_

_But who's the one who abuses her own daughter --_ Carl asked himself, his mind wandering to Lydia, to the little nine-year-old girl he had first seen at least seven years ago and then to the sixteen-year-old she was now. _Who's the one who treats her like garbage on a daily basis? Who's the one who puts her down and harms her without a second thought just because she didn't turn out the way that they wanted her too?_ Alpha did.

Carl made his decision then.

_(A decision that would shape and change him, one that will change things, one that will help and destroy him all the same.)_

Lydia was his main priority. Not his father, not Daryl, not Maggie, not Glenn, not Michonne, not _Alpha_ \-- but Lydia. She was his best friend, the one who he wanted to protect more than anything. She had stuck by his side through thick and thin. He was loyal to her, more so than he was to Alpha. So if she wanted to escape, then they would. If she wanted to go back to her mother, then they would, but if she didn't...

If she didn't, well, then they would get to that when the time came.

_(If the time came)_

Carl leaned against the wall opposite the bed, sliding down to the floor with a tired sigh. He had only just realized just how exhausted he really was, and Carl couldn't even recall the last time he had slept. He had been one of the few on watch back at the camp two nights before, but he couldn't remember if he'd slept anytime after that.

It felt like he hadn't slept in decades.

He glanced toward the bed across from him, frowning slightly. He didn't care much for sleeping on a mattress, not really. He hadn't slept on something soft in ages, much less a bed, so the floor was much more comfortable to him, more familiar. He'd slept in worse places, after all. It was nothing new.

He let his head fall back against the wall, sighing softly and rubbing his face as he did so. Carl let his eye flutter shut, letting his hand fall back down to his side, curling it around his knees instead. Carl sat there for what felt like an eternity as he waited for sleep to finally come, a small part of him hoping that when he woke, he would have some idea of what to do next.

* * *

Carl was dreaming.

(He was haunted by nightmares)

There was fire everywhere, screaming and screeching, roaring and echoing throughout his ears and running around his mind like a broken record, and he felt himself rise to his feet distantly, his mind numb to everything around him. People were running around all over the place, faces blurred, and he felt himself stumble as somebody crashing into him. He can hear children crying, begging, and screaming for help as they were torn apart or burned alive, but he can do nothing but sit and watch as destruction reigned all around him. _I did this..._

_I did this._

Slowly, the world began to darken, and the earth started to split into two. Blood oozed out from the growing cracks in the ground, staining his hands a dark red, and he can do nothing but stare with horrified eyes as it started to rise. The Blackness was reaching for him, tendrils of misery and nothingness engulfing his very being. He can see the world crumbling beneath his feet, feels the flames lick at his skin, blood trickled down from the side of his face, and it hurts -- oh god, it hurts so much-

_(Make it stop... oh god please make it stop-)_

The scene changed, but the world was still in total darkness, but a different kind this time. Carl can feel the gaping hole in the right side of his face, right where his eye was supposed to be -- oozing with blood and dripping down his face and neck, staining his clothes, skin, and the forest floor red. There's the sound of heavy boots from somewhere in front of him, walking toward him slowly, clearly not in any sort of hurry.

_(Somebody help me, please..)_

Moments later, somebody grabbed him by the arm, their grip bruising. He can hear the rough breathing in the air, feels it against his neck. He thrashed in the man's hold, feeling his breathing begin to quicken, his lungs tightening and throat closing as fear slowly overcame him. But despite his struggle, he can't get out.

There was the sound of a buckle working, and the dull thud as a belt landed on the forest floor -- that was all it took for the realization to dawn upon him. 

_(No... oh god, please no -- stop it, please stop-)_

He screamed, and there's laughter rumbling from all around him. There's a hand on his neck -- holding him down so he could barely move. There were leaves, grass, and dirt crushed against his face, the smell of earth, and something more. He could hardly breathe -- he couldn't even move. He was being squashed and--

_(Was he going to die?)_

The weight disappeared, and Carl could breathe again. He looked around, heart leaping into his throat when he realized he was back at the prison, with his whole world shattering around him.

Walkers are flooding into the prison at a rapid pace. Carl stood there frozen, watching in numb shock as his home was destroyed. He could hear Judith crying somewhere in the distance, the sound getting quieter as the seconds wore on. Carl didn't register himself starting to move, but he did, and he _ran,_ his mind set on finding his sister and nothing else.

( _Please let her be okay -- pleasepleasepleaseplease)_

The world changed once again, and Carl was back in the forest, a hand on the back of his neck, holding him down. He thrashed and screamed and struggled. He could hear the groans and moans of walkers from somewhere in the distance, getting closer and louder as the seconds passed, but the man on top of him wouldn't relent, spitting out curses and chuckling darkly under his breath. Carl could hardly breathe. Dark spots were beginning to dot his vision as the world swam in and out of view. His face felt like it was on fire, and the blood that oozed from his eyesocket was dark and sticky. The man reached for Carl's pants, starting to tug them down and--

The man started to scream.

* * *

Daryl entered the old office with his mind whirling, Glenn slipping past him a few seconds later, the younger man looking just as troubled as Daryl felt. The door closed behind him, quietly as to not draw the attention of everyone else who was already in the room. Maggie was standing behind her desk, seemingly placating Tara, who was standing in front of her gesturing animatedly as the pair engaged in what appeared to be a heated argument. Daryl had a pretty good idea as to what the quarrel was probably about. It didn't really take a lot of guessing.

While this was happening, an anxious looking Enid was standing near the doorway, arms crossed over her chest -- looking as if she wanted to be anywhere but here, and Daryl couldn't exactly blame the girl. He would much rather be back at Alexandria with Beth and Anne, but he was needed here. Unfortunately. Maybe in more ways than one if the current meeting was about what he thought it was. Which it most definitely was, seeing as it really couldn't be about anything else. 

Michonne, who stood on the left side of the room, was the first one to notice him and Glenn entering the office. She nodded in greetings, a small smile flitting across her face, which he -- albeit weakly -- returned. Beside her was Rick, whose face was whiter than snow. The man looked to be on the verge of collapsing right then and there, and that itself -- added with the fact that he had run out of the room earlier looking as if he were about to throw up -- caused Daryl to frown. He didn't think he'd ever seen his friend look this shaken, or at least, not in a long time. Not since...

"Hello everybody," Glenn said, making his way over to Maggie, who greeted him with a smile and a kiss.

There were a few mumbled greetings, and Michonne took a step forward, her hands on her hips, her face solemn. 

"Is everybody here?" She asked, glancing around the room with her brows furrowed.

"With the exception of Aaron, yeah, looks like it." Enid piped up apprehensively, taking a look around the room as well.

"Okay, good, that means we can get this thing started," Michonne said, although judging by the look on her face, she did not seem to think that this was a good thing whatsoever. "Daryl," he looked up at the sound of his name, "me, Maggie, and Tara were unable to get much out of the girl, we were hoping that you might have had better luck."

He shook his head, a scowl on his face. "He's a stubborn sone of a bitch, wouldn't say shit. He tried to bluff his way out of the situation a' first, but he stopped after Rick left. Think he finally realized that we didn' and wouldn't believe any of the shit comin' out of his mouth."

"Said they were good people," Glenn answered as well, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. Tara scoffed, shaking her head and opening her mouth, but a warning look from Maggie kept her from saying anything. "Said it was only he and the girl left of their group, that we killed the rest of them."

"She said the same thing," Michonne said, frustration evident on her face. "Think they might've actually been telling the truth?"

"No, they couldn't have been," Rick said, speaking for the first time since Daryl had walked in. "Something... something's just not adding up here."

There were a couple murmurs of agreement from around the room, and Daryl snuck a glance at Rick, who stood stiffly, staring down at the ground with an unreadable expression.

"We need to do something about them," Glenn said, exchanging looks with Maggie, "we can't just keep those two locked up here forever. Not only is it a waste of resources, but it puts our people at risk too."

"But what?" Tara asked, crossing her arms. "We need to figure it out soon because our people-" she motioned toward one of the windows overlooking the community, "-they're going to want revenge for what happened to Jesus. And what better way to do that than to kill the people who did it."

"But they didn't do it, that's the thing." Maggie shook her head, looking disgruntled. "Their people did, and you already killed the ones who did it."

"They don't seem to care," Enid pointed out, her tone dry.

"No, they don't." Michonne agreed. "But we can't just let them kill those two. Hostages or not, we need information on these people. What if there's more of them out there? What if they come back for these two? We don't know. And if we kill them right now-"

"-it could potentially cost us lives." Rick finished for her. The man looked exhausted, and Daryl had a feeling that he knew why. "More than what's already been lost."

"Like Alden and Luke?" Tara asked, arching a brow. "They should have been back by now. Sure, they might just be running a little late, but for all we know, they could've..." she trailed off, but she didn't need to finish what she was saying -- everything in this room knew just what she was implying. It didn't need to be said out loud.

Alden and Luke could, and probably were, dead.

"We need'ta keep an eye on them," Daryl said gruffly after a few more moments of silence. "These two that we caught, they're young, and that makes them even more dangerous than most. They had'ta have been kids when this started, and they clearly weren' as lucky as we were in terms of what kinda group they ended up with. The girl probably doesn't remember much of how the world used'ta be, and the boy was probably young enough that..." he paused, "you get what I'm sayin. These two, they probably won't see much of a problem with killin' to get what they want - what they need." There were a few winces from across the room -- a particularly big one from Rick and Michonne. "Trust me, I don't like killin' kids any more than you do, but if they get out, they could - and would - kill us without a secon' thought. We know that they're capable of it."

The silence that washed over the room was suffocating. Everyone was looking at one another, clearly lost on what to say or do. Daryl leaned back against the wall, his frown deepening as he studied these reactions. His gaze strayed to Michonne and Rick, whose faces had darkened at the mention of killing kids. They were thinking of what happened with Jocelyn, no doubt.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't either.

Michonne, after a few seconds passed, sighed, her expression thoughtful as she began to speak. "I suppose you're right..." she then turned, pursing her lips, "Maggie, Glenn, this your community, you call the shots here, what do _you_ think we should do?"

The two looked at one another, apparently having some sort of telepathic conversation before looking back at Michonne. "Keep them alive, for now." Glenn stated after a moment or two. "We need information, once we get what we need from them, we'll go on from there."

"Can we afford to do that after all that's happened?" Enid asked, her voice soft and filled with doubt.

"We don't have much of a choice."

* * *

He found Rick standing outside the room they had left the boy in, just staring at the door with a distant look in his eye. Daryl approached him slowly, the frown on his face deepening -- if possible -- even more when Rick doesn't even register his arrival. Usually, the other man would've said or done something -- tilt his head to the side or some shit like that -- to show that he had heard Daryl coming up next to him, but Rick doesn't move. His eyes remain pinned to the door. Even when Daryl stopped beside him, he doesn't as so much twitch. It's kind of concerning. He hadn't seen Rick acting this way since they had first gotten to Alexandria, since...

Since they had lost Carl.

_Stop it, Daryl. Can't be thinking of this shit right now. There are more important things at the moment._

"What the fuck's wrong with you?"

Rick jumped, whirling his head around to stare at him, his blue eyes wide. He relaxed slightly upon realizing it was Daryl, but there's still a tenseness in his shoulders as his gaze briefly returned to the closed door. Daryl glanced at the door, grimacing slightly before looking back at Rick, who had begun avoiding his eyes as if sensing what Daryl was about to do. After a few moments, his friend spoke, his voice soft and thick with some unknown emotion.

"Just thinking." Daryl scoffed, shaking his head.

"Pretty sure you've been doin' more than just thinking. Been acting weird as shit since we got back." Rick averted his gaze, his mouth set in a hard line. 

"It's nothing, Daryl, trust me, I'm fine."

"Bullshit."

Daryl doesn't know how long the two of them stand there in silence -- eyes alternating between eachother, the door, and the floor -- might have been a couple of minutes, or maybe a few seconds. He doesn't know, and he doesn't really care. The air is tense around them, the silence dark and suffocating. The silence is broken -- like a knife slicing through butter -- by the sound of Rick clearing his throat. The man finally forced himself to look up -- to raise his head and look at Daryl in the eye. His eyes are sad, red, and bloodshot -- like he had been crying, Daryl realized after a few seconds.

"I'm sorry... it's just - the prisoners..." He started, his voice slow and shaky as he spoke. He looked as if he were about to fall over at a seconds notice, and Daryl positions himself slightly behind Rick just so he could catch him if his friend did indeed fall over. "I-I know that it's stupid, but I k-keep... the boy... he looks-"

Daryl felt the understanding wash over him in seconds. "Like Carl, I know."

"So, you see it too?" There's a mix of fear and relief in Rick's voice as he said this. The man returned his gaze back to the door, crossing his arms and hunching over slightly, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. "I-I keep thinking that it's him, I know that it isn't, I know that he's probably dead, but I just _can't_ help it."

Daryl doesn't say anything for a few moments. He thought back to the two they had caught on the bridge. The girl was a teenager still, probably had been around five or six or something when the world had gone to shit. But the boy, on the other hand, had to be somewhere in his twenties, early twenties, to be exact. Just like someone else would have been -- and might be right now if Daryl's current train of thought was going where he thought it was. Which it was, as crazy as it all seemed.

_Carl would have been his age._

He recalled the first time he had seen him at the bridge. The first time he had noticed him, he hadn't been quite sure what he'd been looking at. Dark brown, nearing on black hair that fell in messy knots a little below his shoulders and one blue eye set on a face void of any emotion. The shade of blue had seemed eerily familiar to him, but he didn't think he'd seen eyes that blue other than Rick's. That realization had sent a whole new train of thought rushing through him, but it wasn't until he'd seen the look of hurt and shock on the boy's face right after Rick had hit him that it started making more sense.

It was crazy to even think about. And the fact that Daryl was actually wondering whether it could be true or not even more so. The probability that, after all this time, the boy they had spent so long looking for could be right behind the door in front of him was impossibly low. There were so many problems with what he was thinking too. So many questions that he'd want answered. So many things that didn't make any sense.

Daryl moved his gaze back over to Rick, who had returned to staring at the door, his face horribly pale. His friend had been so utterly _shattered_ after losing his son -- Daryl couldn't even imagine the pain he must've felt at the time. That he must still feel. Daryl felt guilty about it all, having been the last one to see Carl after all. He remembered seeing Carl struggling with a walker outside the fence, remembered shooting the walker so Carl could escape, he recalled seeing the teen run into the forest right after. Recalled feeling relieved that one more person had escaped the hellhole that was the prison -- only to never see him again.

He remembered seeing the look of total devastation on Rick's face when he had told him that he'd lost his son.

Looking at his friend now, he now could understand the look on his face much better than he had before. The emotions that had begun flitting across his face: fear, longing, wonder, guilt-

Hope...

A part of him was tempted to tell Rick of his suspicions. Hell, he was right about it, but right as he opened his mouth to do so, he stopped. 

Would telling Rick of what he thought be the best thing for him to do? What if he turned out to be wrong? Could he really tell Rick about his suspicions -- get his hopes up, make him think that he might have finally found his son again -- only to have them come crashing down once again? Could he do that?

"It ain't yer fault," Daryl said instead, the guilt of his decision already beginning to gnaw at him from the inside out. "What happened? It happened, Rick. Nothin' we do or say can change that."

"I know, you wouldn't be the first to tell me that," Rick responded, smiling weakly at him. "I just... I only wish that I knew... it kills me, not knowing."

Daryl acted before he thought about it, reaching out to wrap an arm around his friend's shoulders. Rick immediately began leaning against him, sending Daryl a shaky smile as he tried to regain control of his bearings. Daryl knew perfectly well what it meant for Rick to be acting like this, but he also knew that Rick doesn't like to dwell much on his _episodes,_ as the group had dubbed them, so, despite Daryl's worry, he doesn't say a single word about it, knowing that Rick will say something if he needed to.

"One day," Daryl said after a few moments, uncertainty coloring his tone. "Maybe you'll know."

"Yeah," Rick said, though his voice was filled with doubt. "Maybe one day."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay so quick note before I start this chapter. Recently I have edited and rewritten Chapter 1, and while the story hasn’t really changed much at all, I suggest that you all go reread that before continuing on with this chapter. Thank you for reading!

_He was choking._

_Smoke was clogging his senses: blinding and suffocating him. It was in his throat, his lungs, his eye, and every part of his being, and he couldn't breathe -- couldn't see a single thing._

_Who was he? Carl G -- no, no, he was Delta. Where was he? The prison maybe -- no, no, no, wrong again, he got out of the prison, hadn't he? The prison had been destroyed, hadn't it? Wait, what was he just thinking?_

_He couldn't remember._

_Everything was ablaze around him. Walking were groaning somewhere in the distance -- he could hear some of them getting closer, sensing the easy prey somewhere nearby. Everything hurt, and there was some sort of heavy weight holding him down, keeping him in place. The left side of his body pulsed with unimaginable pain: his arm, face, and neck were the worst of all. It hurt, it hurt so much. It was nothing like he'd ever felt before._

_Was he dying? It felt like he was dying._

_Carl choked around the dark tendrils of ash surrounding him and painfully managed to pry open his one blue eye. He blinked once, twice, three times -- trying to unstick the blood and tears that were gluing his eye shut. When his vision finally stopped swimming, and Carl was able to focus -- all that he could see was black: black, black, and more black. The smoke was making his eye water, and Carl squeezed it back shut, holding back the urge to cough. He shuddered as another wave of pain surged through him, attempting to curl in on himself and crying out hoarsely at the pain his attempt caused._

_After a few seconds, he slowly -- and more carefully this time -- eased his eye open the tiniest bit. It was somewhat better than it had been before, but the smoke still stung his eye, and the world was still mostly dark. Weird black spots danced in the corner of his vision as he tried to look around in an attempt to find the source of his agony._

_He could see nothing but his hand in the chaos happening all around him, caked with blood and ash, stretched out onto the pavement before him. He tried wiggling his fingers, but the effort only caused streaks of white, hot pain coursing through him. The smallest of whimpers tore itself from his throat at the agony, and if he could move his body, he would have curled in on himself for protection from the air that felt as if it were burning him alive._

_Dark tendrils reach out for him, binding every bit of him together, it's heat engulfing him. The smoke filled his lungs, he can hardly breathe, he's running out of air -- and what little that was left escaped him in choked out sobs._

_His head was pounding, his vision swimming, his skin burning. His lungs were failing him. All he can hear was the ringing in his ears and the desperate beating of his heart in the endless inferno of embers and ash. There was a figure stumbling into view through the smoke, moaning and groaning -- a walker, he realized, and Carl felt terror fill his body, followed by a faint feeling of acceptance._

_This was it, he was going to die._

_The faces of everyone he ever loved, everyone he ever knew -- his father, his mother, Michonne, Daryl, Carol, Maggie, Beth, Glenn, Sasha, Tyreese, Judith -- their faces flash before his eyes. But it was as if he were viewing them from underwater, their faces were blurry and unfocused, and he can hardly make them out despite his best efforts._

_There's smoke clogging his sense, disturbing his view, drowning out everything-_

_The walker fell to its knees a few feet away from him, crawling forward with its teeth bared in a snarl. Carl flinched away, closing his eye and waiting for the pain to come as the dead bit into his flesh and-_

_The walker dropped dead._

* * *

The room he was imprisoned in was dark when he finally awoke from his nightmare plagued slumber a few hours later. The world outside the window was dark, only a little bit of the moonlight filtering through. It was sometime during the night then, probably around midnight if he had to guess, maybe even past that. Which meant he'd been asleep for what -- seven, eight hours? Had he really been asleep for that long?

He frowned, his brows furrowing in thought. Carl usually only slept for four or five hours at a time, six occasionally if the nightmares that night weren't as bad. It probably wasn't the healthiest thing to do, but he was a light sleeper, and there were always people moving around the camp at every time of day no matter how dark it was. His nightmares probably didn't help much, either. Not only that, but he had also grown used to waking up at the oddest hours to do something for Alpha or just to move camps. It honestly mattered on what they were doing that day, how much they were traveling, and how bad his nightmares were. Carl sat up slightly, sighing and gritting his teeth at the stiffness in his bones. 

"You're awake!"

Carl's body jolted, eye snapping open, and he leaped to his feet, whirling his head around while his hands instinctively go to his belt for a knife that wasn't even there -- right, his father had taken it, he'd forgotten about that. Carl didn't know who he had been expecting, or what, but either way, his eye goes wide, and his hand dropped away from his belt when he finally registered what it was, or rather, who it was. There, standing in the middle of the room, staring up at him with wide, curious eyes -- with some sort of stuffed animal wedged under his elbow and wearing a baseball hat that was way too fucking big for his head was... a kid?

What the fuck?

What the hell was a kid doing here?

He blinked a few times, totally baffled -- as if he were expecting the kid to be a hallucination of some kind. Which, honestly, he kind of was, because why the hell would a kid be in the same room as a dangerous prisoner in the middle of the night with no adults around to protect them? That didn't make any fucking sense whatsoever.

"Er, hi...?" Carl said after a moment or two of them just staring at one another, backing up a bit as the kid jumped forward. "Um... what are you-"

"I heard Mom saying that there was a prisoner in here, is that you?" The kid beamed up at him, not looking the least bit disturbed while Carl just stared.

Because honestly, he had no idea how to go about this, how to react to this. He rarely talked to kids much at all. The ones in the pack were either pretty much terrified of him, dead, soon-to-be-dead, quiet as fuck, or were just plain annoying. So, yeah, he didn't really like spending a lot of time with them. But don't get him wrong, Carl had absolutely _nothing_ against kids, the opposite really. He liked kids, they were cute and all, but he had no fucking clue about how they thought or operated or how to act around them, Lydia being the exception seeing as she hadn't been all that childlike when he first met her. 

He was okay with babies though, babies were easy: babies were tiny, adorable, and altogether pretty easy to deal with. Predictable too. If they were crying, they either wanted food, water, company, comfort, or just took a shit and now needed their diaper changed -- and that was pretty easy stuff to deal with. Give him a baby, and Carl would know just what to say and do to calm them down. He also just liked being around them. They reminded him of Judith, and while Carl would always miss his little sister, being around babies always filled that hole in his heart where Judith had been. There were actually a couple babies back in the pack that Carl would occasionally take care of or just hold when he had the time. 

But the older kids? The ones above the age of three, the ones who walked, talked, and had actual coherent thoughts and ideas -- albeit really fucking bad ones that would occasionally get them killed. Yeah, fuck no. Not his cup of tea.

"...yes, I am," Carl said slowly, narrowing his eye. He had to be missing something here. He couldn't for the life of him figure out why a fucking _child,_ and unknown one at that, was in his 'cell' watching him sleep. He doubted that the kid's parents -- if they were even still alive -- knew that their kid was here. Or Carl's dad, for that matter. No decent person would willingly or knowingly let their child or any child anywhere near him. "Um... what are you doing here?"

The kid simply smiled up at him again before walking forward on his tiny legs. Carl instinctively took a step back, eyeing the kid warily. It wasn't as if he believed the kid could hurt him or anything, it's just that kids were clingy as fuck, and he was not in the mood to be dealing with this one's clinginess. That and he didn't want to risk being anywhere near him if anybody walked in.

The kid stopped right in front of Carl, green eyes wider than what even should be possible. "I'm not supposed to be up here," he said in a whisper as if sharing some kind of big secret, "but I wanted to see if Mom was right! We don't get prisoners here a lot."

"You do realize that, as a prisoner, that means that I did something bad that could potentially harm you, right?" Carl said, his brows furrowing his confusion. Was he ever like this as a kid? He couldn't really remember. How old was the kid anyway, from the size of him, the kid couldn't be any older than nine. Maybe six or seven, eight if he was pushing it.

"Is that why you're here?" The kid (he really needed to find something else to call him) asked curiously, tilting his head to the side, reaching up to adjust the giant hat on his head when it fell in front of his face. "Because you did something bad?"

"Um, kind of, yeah," Carl said with a shrug. Slowly, he kneeled down to the kid's height so he could look him in the eye. There was something about the kid that seemed weirdly familiar, but Carl was pretty damn sure that he had never seen this kid before in his life. "Hey, kid, do you happen to know where the other prisoner is? The one who came here with me?"

How did he know if the kid even knew about Lydia? For all he knew, the kid only heard about him. Still, Carl wasn't about to _not_ ask. That would be stupid.

"Um..." the kid frowned, his brows furrowing in thought, "I think Mom said she was in the cellar, but I don't know. I've never been in there before."

_Well, it was worth a shot._

Carl bit his lip, fingers tapping against his knee. He then moved his eyes to the kid, who was still staring at him with that wide-eyed wonder, and it was honestly starting to creep him out. "I don't think I caught your name, kid. Mind tellin' me?"

"Hershel," the kid -- no Hershel -- answered, and Carl froze at the familiar name. His mind immediately went to the old man back at the farm and prison, the one who saved his life and acted like the grandfather Carl never had. He inhaled sharply, closing his eye and rubbing his forehead. 

This was stupid. There had to be multiple people named Hershel in the world. This was just a coincidence, nothing more. He was just getting caught up in the past, that was all. _But what are the chances that Glenn and Maggie are in a community with a kid named Hershel? And the kid does look oddly familiar, doesn't he?_

"Can I ask you another question, kid?" At Hershel's nod, Carl asked: "Do you have a last name?" 

Hershel nodded rapidly, looking quite pleased with himself as he spoke. "Mhm, it's Rhee!"

Well, shit.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit-!_

_Shit._

This was Glenn and Maggie's kid. 

Glenn and Maggie had a kid.

A fucking kid.

A _child._

So _that's_ why he seemed so familiar.

If Carl was being honest, Maggie had never really struck him as a motherly figure in the time that he knew her, but then again, he could also kind of see it in a way. With the way she had acted around Judith -- _don't think about her_ \-- she would have definitely made a good mother. The kid looked like her too. Had her freckles and eyes, but everything else was entirely Glenn. The hair, the face, the carefree way he held himself...

Jesus Fucking Christ. It was like staring at a mini Glenn.

"Really?" Carl asked, the corners of his mouth curving up into a smile. "That's a nice name." 

In the 1900s, maybe. Seriously though, who the fuck calls their kid _Hershel?_ He supposed he could kind of understand why -- it was Maggie's father, after all. He'd name a kid after his parents if he ever had one, which he probably wouldn't because Carl would be a _horrible_ father, but _Hershel_? He hoped that the kid at least had a decent middle name. It might give him some mercy when he's older. 

"Hey! I don't know your name," Hershel said suddenly, eyes widening. 

If this kid was going where Carl thought he was going...

"You don't." Carl agreed.

"What is it?"

God fucking _dammit._

"Don't got one," Carl said with a shrug, "at least, not anymore."

Hershel frowned, looking baffled as if the mere concept of people not having names had never occurred to him. Which it probably hadn't. "What do you mean?"

"It means I haven't gone by my name in years," Carl explained, "I just don't use it anymore."

"What was it, then?" Hershel questioned, green eyes narrowing in determination. _Definitely Maggie's son, alright._

"I literally just told you I don't use it anymore." Carl deadpanned, arching a brow at the kid's inquisitive nature. 

"Why not?" Hershel asked, for some reason looking upset. Carl tensed when the kid's lip started to wobble. _Oh, god, please don't start crying._ Carl may be a shitty person in general, but he really didn't want to be known as the guy who made kids cry. That was the one thing that actually made him feel like a horrible person -- something that not even killing people could do.

"I mean... I just don't. The people I was with don't like it when we use our birth names." Carl tried, keeping his voice soft.

"Then what do I call you?" Hershel inquired, crossing his arms and nearly dropping his stuffed animal.

Carl opened his mouth to answer, but then stopped. The question was simple, really. What did he want Hershel to call him? But that's the thing, it wasn't an easy question, not for him, not anymore. His automatic reaction was to say 'Delta,' but something else within him was telling him to say 'Carl.' The thing was, before yesterday, he would have just said Delta and be done with it. He wouldn't have even hesitated. Wouldn't have thought about it because that was who he was. He was Delta. But now, after finally finding his family again, after finding out they were alive and not dead as he had first thought, he was confused.

Which name does he say?

Which name _should_ he say?

"Carl." Saying his given name felt weirdly foreign on his tongue -- wrong, almost, and that scared him much more than he'd like to admit. How bad was it that it felt wrong saying his own goddamn name? But he hadn't said it out loud in so long. Hell, he couldn't even remember the last time he's said it, since someone had last called him it. Had to have been years ago. Carl was drawn out from his troubling thoughts when Hershel started speaking again.

"What happened to your face?" Carl flinched back, not expecting _that_ question of all things.

Hershel's eyes widened seconds after he said it, looking alarmed. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to be mean! I just-"

"It's alright, kid, it's not the first time someone's asked me that," Carl said, mind wandering to earlier. He then forced a weak smile onto his face, trying to assure Hershel that his words were the truth. "And besides, I've had people say it in much meaner ways than you just did."

That seemed to do the trick for immediately, Hershel relaxed slightly, shoulders slumping as the kid let out a whoosh of air, a relieved expression crossing his face. "Oh, okay, that's good." Then, a look of curiosity passed his face. "Um... why don't you use your name? Do you think it's bad or somethin?"

_Well, it's certainly not the best one, that's for sure._ Carl thought dryly, reaching a hand to scratch at the scar on his wrist. "No, I'm just not allowed to. My leader doesn't like things like that."

"Why not?" Hershel asked. _Jesus Christ, he's just as curious as Glenn is._

"It's not that important, kid, trust me," Carl said after a moment, shaking his head. Then, he bit his lip, stiffening as a thought came to mind. "Hey, can you do me a favor, Hershel?" The little boy's eyes snapped right back up to meet Carl's, practically brimming with curiosity.

"Oh, uh, sure - what is it?" Hershel asked, cocking his head to the side.

Carl leaned in somewhat, his voice quiet as he spoke. "You can't tell anybody my real name, got it?"

A look of confusion spread across Hershel's face, and he frowned, tilting his head to the side before asking, "why not?"

"Because it's a secret, nobody knows except me, and now you." The kid's eyes lit up, and Carl allowed himself to breathe an internal sigh of relief. One less problem to worry about now.

"A secret?!" Hershel looked a little too excited at the fact, but the sight of it had Carl smiling despite it. None of the kids in the pack had ever been so carefree, so... excited. They were always so quiet, with a good reason, of course, but it was surprisingly comforting to see that -- despite all that's happened -- there were still some kids that had that childlike innocence that had been robbed from so many -- that kids could grow up happy in a world like this one, "Of course, you can count on me!"

"Thanks, kiddo," Carl said, grinning down at him. And, in an uncharacteristic show of affection, reached out to snag the hat from the kid's head and ruffle his hair, a lot like how Shane used to do to him. 

"Hey!" Hershel burst into a fit of laughter, swatting at Carl's hand with a small pout on his face. 

Carl couldn't help but laugh as well, and the action only made him wonder about the last time he'd even done so. Still, he pulled back seconds later, feeling so much lighter than he had in what had probably been years. 

_(If he had been paying more attention to his surroundings -- if he had been listening a little more, he would have heard the sharp intake of breath that came from someone on the other side of the door -- that someone being a person whose suspicions had just been proven right.)_

* * *

_He's terrified that he's going to forget._

_Forget his family, forget who he once was before all this. That one day, after all these years, that everything from before -- everything that had belonged to the old world, everyone who he used to know -- would simply disappear, that each and every single memory he had of them would just fall away. Leaving him with nothing. Leaving him_ **_as_ ** _nothing._

_Who was he?_

_Carl Grimes. He was Carl Grimes, but he wasn't at the same time. It's confusing, hard to explain. He was Delta, but he wasn't. Delta didn't feel quite right -- it never had. But it was so much easier than being Carl Grimes._

_Maybe it doesn't matter._

_Maybe nothing does._

_It's kind of sad, really._

_Nothing matters, not in the end._

_Everyone forgets._

_Everyone dies._

_And so will he._

* * *

"Get up."

Carl turned from where he'd been sitting on the bed, an old book of poems he had found under the mattress in his lap, reading in the early morning light as he waited in tense silence for something to happen. He looked up at Daryl, who was leaning on the now closed door, a bag of some sort in his hand, a knife in his other, and his crossbow slung across his shoulders -- the man's staring at Carl through narrowed eyes, head tilted back and blue eyes blank -- almost as if the archer was assessing him for something. Which, in this case, he probably was.

_(Was he here to kill him?)_

"What the fuck do you want?" Carl snapped, body bristling. He let himself relax somewhat, but there was still a tenseness in his shoulders that came from having someone else -- an enemy at that -- being in the same room as him while he had no weapons. And while he had been distracted no less. Hell, Carl hadn't even heard the door opening. "How... how long have you been standing there?"

"Longer than you'd like." Daryl grunted, raising a brow at him as he reholstered his knife -- the exact same one that he threatened to cut Carl's eye out with, he noticed. "And what do you think I'm doing? We're movin' your sorry ass down to the cellar. Now get up."

Something about the archer's current attitude was different than before, almost as if he were... worried about something. Carl narrowed his eye in suspicion. What the hell would Daryl even have to be nervous about? If anything, Carl would have thought that the man would still be pissed at him and yelling at him like he had been earlier when interrogating him, but instead, he seemed to look the exact opposite. Which was something that confused Carl a whole lot -- mostly because that could not be right whatsoever. Daryl Dixon and nervous do not go together at all. Carl doesn't spend a lot of time pondering on it because then, the rest of the man's words sink in, and it doesn't take long at all for Carl to process what Daryl had said.

He straightened up immediately, his eye widening. "The cellar, why?" _Wasn't that where Hershel said Maggie put Lydia._

He's pretty sure it was.

Daryl only shrugged. "Makes things easier."

Carl frowned, blinking wearily up at the archer, whose face was suspiciously blank. Daryl was staring down at him through slitted eyes, and it was a masked kind of stare too -- one that was hiding whatever emotions that the man may be feeling. That was something Daryl had always been good at. Hiding his emotions.

To bad that Carl was too. 

"C'mon," Daryl said after a few seconds, probably realizing that this conversation was over. They stay like that for another few seconds before Carl reluctantly got to his feet, put the book he had been reading down, and began to approach the man who slow and uneasy steps. Daryl pulled out a small length of rope from his pocket, motioning for Carl to turn around. Still somewhat confused by the man's less violent behavior, he does so without argument, placing his hands behind his back without bothering to fight back. What would even be the point in doing that? If Daryl was bringing him to Lydia, then why should he fight?

_(Because he left you to die)_

Daryl pushed back his sleeves, pausing for a split second before tying Carl's hands together with the rope. It was much looser this time, not at all as it had been yesterday when they had been bringing him and Lydia here, but it was still tight enough that Carl would have quite a bit of trouble getting himself out of it. Not that he would. But if he wanted to try or if a situation potentially arose that meant he needed to escape, it was relieving to know that he still could.

Once Daryl had finished, the man took out the bag he had been holding earlier, and Carl understood what he wanted without any words having to be spoken. The bag was placed over his head, and his whole world was suddenly entirely dark. He forced himself not to flinch away as Daryl started pulling at the bag, tightening it somewhat but keeping it loose enough as to not choke him accidentally. Carl would be lying if he said he wasn't grateful for that.

As soon as the bag had been secured around his head, Daryl's fingers wrapped around Carl's forearm and led him out the door. Carl let Daryl guide him through the halls of whatever building they were in, cursing a couple times when they began making their way down the staircase. Daryl chuckled (much to Carl's surprise) and opened up another door. A cool breeze hit him instantly, and Carl knew without a doubt that they were back outside. He made a move to start walking again, but to his surprise, Daryl didn't move.

"Any reason we stopped?" Carl snapped, letting the irritation ebb into his voice.

"I saw the scar on yer wrist." Daryl began after a moment or two, still not budging. Carl's head snapped up at this, heart seemingly stopping in his chest, whipping his head around in the direction of Daryl's voice.

He gritted his teeth, grinding them together harshly enough that he was slightly surprised that they didn't snap. Carl then took in a deep breath, exhaling slowly before speaking. "Which one? I have multiple."

The scar was starting to itch again.

Daryl huffed. "You know perfectly well what I'm talkin' 'bout."

And he did.

_(He wished he didn't.)_

Carl shrugged, his shoulders tense. "So what if I do. Why do you care?"

_(Why should you care? You don't know me)_

But he does.

_(He doesn't know that...)_

"Calm down, ain't judgin' ya. M'just wonderin' why ya did it. You don't seem like that kind 'a person." Carl frowned, pressing his lips together in a hard line.

_(Please leave me alone)_

There were many things Carl couldn't remember about the last eight or so years, many things he didn't really _want_ to remember. But Carl could never forget the day that he got that old and ugly scar that went right across his wrist -- the one he had made in a fit of self-loathing, grief, sadness, and anger -- no matter how hard he tried to forget, the day he got that scar was one he would always remember.

_(He didn't want to remember)_

Carl recalled with an eerie clarity what he had been feeling at that moment. The whirlwind of emotions that had been circling through him. He hadn't wanted to die, not really, but he had been feeling so _numb_ and _angry_ that he just needed to feel something else _\--_ anything at all, even if it was pain. He remembered grabbing one of his knives and just running it across his wrist, not realizing what he was doing until after he'd done it. He had regretted it so much after that -- had simply stared at his hand in horror, dropping the knife and falling to his knees as he registered what he did. He had been lucky that he hadn't cut too deeply, or else Carl would have been screwed beyond belief. 

_(Maybe that would've been for the best)_

It was then that he realized that Daryl was still waiting for an answer. So he opened his mouth, the words at the tip of his tongue, and-

He hesitated.

Why the hell should he tell him?

What reason did he have?

Daryl was practically a stranger to him now. He hadn't seen him in almost a decade. Carl didn't have to tell him shit if he didn't want to.

"I did it because I was weak." The words felt hollow coming out, and Carl shook his head, biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. The metallic taste trickled into his mouth, but he ignored it as he continued to speak. "I was young and stupid. Alone and afraid. I was weak, and the weak don't survive in this world, they never do."

"If the weak don't survive, then why did you?" He can feel Daryl's eyes on him, felt his stare as if it were burning a hole into his side, and he wished for nothing more than to be back in that little room where he had been alone. At least there he had somewhere to hide, something to do to distract him from the thoughts now churning in his mind. But here he was tied up and in total darkness with nowhere to hide.

"I wanted to live, to be strong," Carl answered after a moment, "I wanted to survive, so I did."

* * *

The moment that they actually took a step outside, Carl found himself regretting it almost instantly.

He can't see shit, but he can feel the stares of the people in the community without needing to. Even as Daryl shoved him in the presumed direction of the cellar -- where Lydia was. He can hear the people whispering as he passed, the bag on his head telling them just who Daryl was transporting.

"...that him?" He heard someone whisper.

"...he the one who bit Glenn, right?" He heard another one ask.

"...Jesus is dead because of him and that girl..." Someone spat, voice laced with anger.

"...think they're finally killing them?" Somebody else asked. Carl soon found himself curling in on himself more and more with every word, wishing with every fiber of his being that he was back in the room where he could be alone. Daryl snapped at anyone who dared get too close, but his words seemingly only ward them off for a short period of time before they came back like a flock of birds. But Carl appreciated the fact that Daryl continued to do it anyway.

All of a sudden, Daryl pulled to a stop, causing Carl to stumble slightly at the unexpected change in their pace. Daryl's hands left his arm for a split second, and Carl could hear the sounds of a trapdoor being opened before Daryl grabbed him once again, pulling him forward and away from the judging stares and angered whispers.

Carl toppled forward after the first few steps down the stairs, and Daryl sighed, steadying him before he could fall. Once he was sure Carl wasn't about to slip again, Daryl let go of Carl's arm again for a brief moment, pulling the trapdoor shut before going back to Carl. Daryl grabbed him by the shoulder this time, his grip surprisingly gentle, and pulled the bag off of his head in one swift movement. Carl blinked slowly as his sight adjusted to the shadowy space around him. He then glanced downward at the dimly lit staircase they stood near the top of, biting back a grimace as he looked around -- this place reminded Carl a little too much of the prison than he would've liked.

"Watch yer step." Daryl grunted, his grip tightening somewhat as he began leading him down the stairs. Carl averted his gaze down to his feet, keeping an eye on where he put his feet so he wouldn't fall. "Don't need ya fallin and splittin' your head open."

Carl couldn't help but snort, the corners of his mouth curving up into a smile, "how about you try going down a dark staircase with only one fucking eye and your hands tied up. It's harder than it looks, you ass."

To his surprise, Daryl let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head in amusement as the two of them made it to the last step. "I'd rather not, I'm perfectly happy walkin' down the stairs with two eyes. I'll leave the one-eyed business to you."

"D-delta?" A shaky voice called out to his left, and Carl's head spun around in the direction of the sound so fast he was surprised he didn't get a whiplash.

"Lydia?" Carl breathed, his eye going wide as relief swarmed him. He didn't even notice his use of her name in front of Daryl, something that he was usually careful of not doing. Instead, Carl focused on the sound of his friend's voice. He hadn't had much of a chance to talk to her since Gamma had ordered him to go off with Kappa, and he hadn't seen her since his father had blindfolded him. So to hear her voice again after everything that's happened in the past few days sent all sorts of emotions coursing through him: relief, joy, happiness, worry... "Are you okay?"

"Of course she's fucking okay," Daryl interjected, a tinge of exasperation in his voice as he began pulling Carl to the right -- away from Lydia too, he realized with a flare of annoyance as he glanced back to try and catch a glimpse of his friend. "If we didn't kill you, did you really think we'd kill her? You've done more shit than she has since you've come here."

"Excuse me, asshole. But have you _seen_ some of the fucked up shit that people do to others for literally no reason?" Carl asked as Daryl swung open an empty cell door. The man just grunted, pushing Carl into the open doorway of the cell, stepping behind him and cutting the restraints he had put on Carl's hands, giving him the ability to move his arms again. Something he was grateful for, they had been starting to get sore. Breathing a small sigh and rubbing at his wrists -- which had turned red and irritated from the rope -- Carl stepped into the cell, jumping slightly as the door clanged shut behind him.

"Suppose ya do have a point abou' that," Daryl said after a moment, the door's lock making a clicking sound as he locked it. Carl turned his head to look at him, arching a brow at his words, but Daryl ignored him and continued on, taking a step back from the cell with his eyes not leaving Carl's, "-but we're not tha' kind of community."

_Trust me, I know._ Carl's mind whispered, but the words that came out of his mouth were saying something else entirely. "Maybe you are, maybe you're not - but forgive me if I can't exactly take your word for it." 

Daryl just stared at him for a few moments, his eyes masked like they had been before, his face void of any discernible emotion. After a second or two, the man nodded, turning away and walking out of view. Carl stayed where he was for a few seconds, head tilting to the side as he listened to Daryl climbing back up the steps. The footsteps paused briefly, but then he could hear the doors being flung open as Daryl left, slamming them back shut seconds later as darkness descended back on the cellar, telling Carl that both he and Lydia were now alone.

He looked around the cell, instinctively looking for any possible weak spots in the bars or walls. When he didn't find any, he sighed, crossing the small expanse of the cell and sitting down in the corner. He rubbed at his wrists, eyeing the thick scar on one of them before shoving his hands in his pockets. 

"Delta?" He heard Lydia call out from her cell. "Are you okay? Did they-"

"I'm okay," Carl assured her, resting his head against the wall, "a little sore, a bit bruised, but I'm okay." 

"I was so worried," she whispered, her voice cracking, "I thought... I thought that they might have-" she went quiet, struggling to find the right words. Finally, she said in a broken voice, her voice hardly higher than a whisper: "I thought they might've killed you..."

Oh.

To be honest, Carl hadn't even thought much of the possibility that his father and everyone else in the community might try to kill him and Lydia. It was kind of odd because usually, those were the first things that came to mind when around strangers, but these people weren't strangers. Or at least, not all of them.

He supposed that if they had decided to try and kill the both of them, that Carl would have revealed himself to stop it. Despite everything, he knew that his father would never hurt him if he knew it was him, so that was probably the only reason he hadn't worried all that much about possibly dying here. But Lydia didn't know that -- didn't realize that he knew these people. There was no for her _to_ know. Sure, while he had told her about his family on numerous occasions, he had never told her their names, had never told her what they looked like. Right now, she thought that these people were strangers to the both of them, and she had no way of knowing otherwise.

If they were anywhere else, he might have told her right then and there, and he had just opened his mouth to do just that when he caught sight of the small open window above his cell -- then, he stopped, his eye narrowing. Nothing was covering it, and that meant that anyone could be listening. So Carl slammed his mouth back shut, exhaling slowly and running a hand through his knotted hair, trying to come up with something to say that could possibly comfort Lydia.

"Lydia, I've literally been shot in the face, stomach, and nearly burned alive-" he absentmindedly scratched at the burn scar on his cheek. Letting his hand drop moments later "-so it's going to take a lot more than being taken hostage to kill me."

A grin spread across his face when he heard her let out a small laugh. And though the sound was slightly hysterical and a little tense, it was better than her being completely silent. Anything was better than that.

Carl let his eye flutter shut in favor of lying down on the cold floor. It was much less comfortable than the corner in the other room was the last time he slept, but he was already used to things like this. Carl had slept on much worse in more dangerous places than this. And while he really wasn't all that tired at the moment, he didn't exactly have all that much to do here, now did he?

"Delta?" Carl's eye snapped open at the sound of Lydia's voice.

"Yes?" 

There was a small pause, and then a bit of shuffling as she moved around in her cell. "Do you think they're going to kill us?

Whatever he had thought that Lydia was going to say, that was certainly not it. Carl frowned, gnawing on his bottom lip as he pondered about her words. While he'd like to think that, no, these people wouldn't kill him or Lydia, how the hell could he know? 

After a few moments of this, he sighed, resting his hand under his head, closing his eye once more as he spoke. And the words were much more truthful than he would've liked.

"I don't know Lydia, I really don't know."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Extra long chapter for you all! Sorry for the wait!

Carl had been dreaming again, or more accurately, having yet another nightmare -- something he should honestly stop being so surprised about at this point. Having nightmares was a daily part of his life now. Even eight or so years after he started having them, they had never stopped. Hell, he didn't think that there had been a single night where he didn't have one -- and that was really saying something.

Anyways, his nightmare had been of the prison again this time, which always had been his least favorite ones. In his dream, he had been standing by the chain fences -- the Governor having just rolled up to their gates, his small army and tank in tow with Hershel and Michonne kneeling before him. Things had gone as they had before, with his dad walking down to the outer fence -- trying to reason with the Governor, trying to persuade him into not taking the prison only to fail. The Governor had held Michonne's sword up, sneering at his father, and brought it down with one broad swing, efficiently killing Hershel. And after that, chaos reigned. People ran around like headless chickens, being killed left and right: be it by a bullet to the head, being taken down by the explosions, stabbed, or eaten by the walkers that the Governor had let in.

The thing that had differed from real life in his dream, however, was what Carl saw in it.

He saw his father die in a million different ways -- saw his little sister being devoured by walkers: screaming and crying as she was torn to pieces. He saw Michonne, Daryl, Carol, Beth, Maggie, Glenn, Sasha, Tyreese, and so many others dying in various gruesome ways without being able to even lift a finger to help them. It was like he had been completely frozen in place. Unable to move, unable to do something, _anything_ to save his family. Simply cursed to watch his family die over and over and over and over again. All right in front of him and incapable of stopping it no matter how much he yearned to. It was just like with Dale, with his mom, just like with- 

He woke with a quiet gasp, eye snapping open with his whole body practically drenched in sweat. He simply lay, slumped against the cold, concrete wall for a few short moments, breathing heavily before sitting up slowly, muscles aching with every small movement he made. Carl stretched out his arms in an arc above his head, trying to rid himself of the stiffness lingering in them as he glanced around his cell. It took him a second to remember where he was, and then another for his mind to fully register everything around him.

Oh, right, Daryl had moved him.

The cellar was almost entirely black, with creeping shadows crawling in at every little hole. Shrouding the place in darkness even as little rays of moonlight trickled in through the window above -- allowing just enough light to seep through for Carl to see clearly, or at least, somewhat clearly. He glanced up at it, barely able to make out the stars glimmering in the distant sky as he pulled himself back up to his feet, muscles screaming in protest. Karma for sleeping on the floor again, he supposed. Not that Carl had much choice in the matter.

And it's not like he did very much sleeping in the first place.

As the haziness that still engulfed his mind began to clear somewhat, Carl realized with a start that maybe his nightmare hadn't been the reason he had woken up at all. He strained his ears, instinctively pressing himself against the side of the cell as a painfully loud clang echoed somewhere above. He could hear the sound of the trapdoor being opened, accompanied by the sound of jingling keys and the heavy thud of footsteps making their way down the stairs -- not Daryl or his dads, these ones were much lighter than theirs were -- and not Michonne's or Maggie's either, too heavy. Somebody else then. Moonlight poured in from the open door, and Carl only just managed to catch a glimpse of a human figure before they disappeared from view.

Whoever they were, they were going in the direction of Lydia's cell.

Carl felt a flare of panic start to churn inside him, only for it to flicker down as a voice -- an unfamiliar one -- broke the silence. Awkward and unsure as they spoke.

"Hey."

The voice belonged to a boy -- a teenager, if he had to guess, seeing as it wasn't high enough to belong to a kid Hershel's age but wasn't deep enough to belong to an adult. Carl felt himself relax as he heard Lydia respond to the boy after a brief moment of silence: "Hey..."

Whoever the hell this was, she clearly knew him in some way.

That was... interesting, to say the least.

There was a pause, and then the boy spoke up again, voice tinged with a small hint of worry now. "It's me from-"

Lydia interrupted him before he could say anything else, "Yeah, I know. Why are you..." she trailed off for a brief moment, struggling to find the right words before finally settling on: "Did Daryl send you?"

Lydia knew Daryl's name? He supposed he should have expected that. Knowing her, she probably picked it up from somebody else in the community or something. But also, why the hell would Daryl be sending whoever this kid was into the cellar? Carl had a few guesses, but all of them would make so much more sense if they had sent an entirely different person -- an adult who didn't appear to have a death wish -- instead of a hormonal teenager.

"No, uh, Daryl doesn't..." the boy stammered a bit as he spoke, "he doesn't... know I'm here. I, uh, told him I'd talk to you tomorrow, but..." the boy stopped for a brief pause, "I couldn't wait."

Aw, how adorable. By the sound of things, whoever this boy was, he had a crush on Lydia. _Shows how low this kid's standards are if he's into a prisoner of all things._ Then again, not that he could blame the boy. Lydia was a wonderful person once you got to know her and an attractive girl even with all the dirt and grime covering her, but she's literally an enemy to this kid as well. So... yeah. Having a thing for your enemy was definitely not the smartest thing to do. Even Carl had more sense than that as a teenager (oh god, that made him sound old), and that was saying something because Carl had been pretty goddamn reckless as a teenager. Still was, honestly.

_Also, what the fuck is with the kids of this community sneaking off to see the prisoners? First Hershel and now this one._

Carl shook his head, lips quirking up into an amused smile. These people really needed to keep a better eye on their kids. Sure, maybe he and Lydia (supposedly) wouldn't hurt them; the same could not be said for the rest of the pack. Most of them would kill enemy or stranger kids without hesitation regardless of how old they might have been, all while Carl already knew that he (most of the time) wouldn't lay a finger on them. In fact, when Hershel had been in his cell the night before, the thought of harming the kid hadn't even crossed his mind because while he may be an asshole and a horrible person in general, he wasn't a child murderer.

Well, most of the time, it usually depended on how much of a danger they may pose to him. Or how old they were. Any kid above the age of ten was free game. Or any kid who might attempt to hurt him or Lydia. _Goddamn, that sounds so much crueler when I think of it like that,_ Carl thought with a wince.

"Why?" Lydia croaked out, breaking Carl out of his current train of thought. Which was a good thing too, seeing as it was starting to get a little dark.

"I don't know," the boy admitted, and Carl rolled his one eye, biting back a huff of amusement as the boy continued on, "I just... I like you. I think you're a good person." There was the sound of keys rattling as the boy spoke, and Carl felt his mind draw to a halt: _is he going to do what I think he's going to do?_ "And I want to show you that this is a good place with good people."

The lock on Lydia's cell door clicked. Carl felt realization dawn on him instantly.

Jesus fucking christ. The kid was letting her out.

Was he stupid or something?

"You're letting me out?" Lydia asked, probably just as surprised as Carl felt. 

The rattling paused, "yeah, just for a bit." The boy said after a second or two, and the rattling of keys resumed, "We just have to be quiet, stay out of sight. Cool?"

"Cool," was Lydia's breathy response. He had no doubt that she was probably coming up with a hundred different ways to escape at the moment: on how to get away from the boy and get back to the pack. She was like that a lot, and it was part of why Carl admired her. She was almost always thinking about the best way to get out of a situation, on how to outsmart people if she couldn't fight them in hand-to-hand combat. Carl would be lying if he said he didn't act the same way at times. Something he might have picked up from her, he supposed.

Or maybe it was the other way around; he didn't know and didn't particularly care. Either way, Carl decided he had spent more than enough time being quiet. Straightening himself up, he cleared his throat. "Hello?" He called out, letting a tinge of his own boredom seep into his tone. "If prisoners are being released, can I be next?"

There was a gasp of surprise, and Carl couldn't help but let out a low chuckle at the reaction, a spark of amusement flaring up inside him. Whoever this boy was, he should really be more observant. How was it that he didn't know that Carl was in here anyway? From his experience, which, granted, wasn't a lot, people gossiped quite a bit, more than that even, so Carl was a little taken aback at the fact that the news he had been moved hadn't yet reached this boy. Quite a few people had seen Daryl moving him, after all. Even if it had been really, really early in the morning.

The boy's gasp was followed by the creak of the cell door being thrown open, the pitter patter of quiet footsteps, and Carl took a small step back as Lydia's shocked and relieved face swam into view as she pulled to a stop by his cell. She reached out, hands passing through the bars, and Carl didn't hesitate taking them into his own, squeezing her hands tightly with his eye scouring over her slim figure. She looked relatively okay. There were dark bags under her eyes, and her face was coated with dirt, but altogether looked uninjured. For that, he was thankful because if she had been hurt, he might have had to disembowel someone. And that would not be something that would help his situation in the slightest.

His eye flickered up from Lydia as a teenage boy, around fifteen or sixteen, if he had to guess, slid into view seconds after Lydia. The teen had a tall, lanky frame with short blond hair and a horrible amount of freckles dusting his face. He took in Carl with wide, confused eyes. It was clear to him that the boy hadn't just forgotten that another prisoner was supposed to be here. He simply hadn't known that Carl had been in here in the first place. If he had, Carl was pretty sure things would have gone much differently.

Lydia didn't seem to pay the boy any mind, however. In fact, she didn't even appear to notice him at all as she pulled Carl closer to the bars. "You're okay..." Lydia breathed, relief tainting her voice. She untangled one of her hands from his, reaching out to touch his face. She brushed away a few strands of hair that were hanging in front of his eye, resting her hand on his cheek as her eyes search his own. "You're okay..." Lydia repeated softly, as if not believing her own words.

Carl grinned, absently leaning into her touch, "did you really expect me to be anything else."

A small grin formed on her face before, suddenly, her eyes locked onto something on his face, and a frown suddenly marred her features. Her fingers brushed over the bruise Carl's father had made, a look of surprise and anger crossing her face as he winced. "You're hurt?"

"It's just a bruise," he assured her quickly, "nothing to be worried about." He took in the look of doubt on her face, his smile softening as he spoke. "I'm not going to die from a bruise of all things, Lydia, I _promise.”_

"I know that," she said softly, eyes downcast, "but I still don't like it."

"Wait... you guys um," the boy looked between the two, blinking in bewilderment as his gaze finally settled on Carl. "Who are you?"

"A friend," Carl said curtly, meeting the boy's confused gaze from over Lydia's head, "or at least, a friend to Lydia. Can't say the same about you, I'm afraid. Have no fucking clue who you even are, either."

"His names Henry," Lydia said as the boy opened his mouth to respond, "he was locked up in this cell when I was first brought down here."

"Really?" Carl raised his brows at this, mildly surprised at the information. This boy didn't look like the rebellious type; struck Carl as more of a stickler for rules, if anything. "And what did you do to be thrown down here? Steal candy from a baby or somethin?" Did they even have babies here?

"Oh, um..." a faint blush covered the teen's face as he reached up, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I, uh, snuck out. Came back drunk." 

Ah.

That made... some sense.

Carl couldn't really recall if he'd ever been drunk himself, though. It wasn't exactly common in the pack, though occasionally a few of the pack members would find some alcohol to share -- or keep to themselves, it depended on how generous they were feeling. Carl never joined them when they did do that though, he'd seen some of the stupid shit people did when drunk and wanted no part of it. Beta also advised him not to drink, saying that doing so made you stupid, and that meant death -- and after witnessing a fellow Whisperer being eaten alive after drinking half a bottle of wine, Carl was inclined to believe the man.

"They threw you down here for that?" Carl shook his head, a little bewildered, and a little amused. "Damn, these people must be strict." _Nothing compared to Alpha, though._

"I guess..." The boy -- Henry -- responded, shrugging. There was still a look of faint confusion on his face, and the teen shoved his hands into his pockets, brows knitting together as he thought about something. "They did hang the previous leader a few years back, I think, but that was because he tried killing Maggie, so it was kind of warranted."

_Warranted indeed,_ Carl thought to himself, mulling over this new information with great interest. He found that he couldn't even muster the faintest bit of sympathy for the bastard who attempted to kill Maggie. Seemed like the fucker had it coming. He could only imagine how Glenn must've reacted, probably tried murdering the bastard himself. 

"Do you think you could let him out too?" Lydia interjected, her brown eyes shifting over to the keys now clenched in Henry's hands. "Not permanently, of course, but he's my friend so..." she trailed off, ducking her head and biting at her lip, feigning uncertainty. Carl couldn't help but grin a little at this. 

"I don't think I can," Henry said after a second or two, his haze switched between Carl and Lydia, clearly assessing the situation in some way. "I'm only really allowed to talk to her," he nodded toward Lydia, who frowned slightly at his words.

Carl, on the other hand, simply shrugged: already expecting this response. "Honestly, didn't expect anything else. You'd have to be pretty fucking stupid if you let two prisoners out while everyone's asleep."

Lydia, however, wasn't taking no for an answer. Which Carl honestly should've expected. "We're not going to do anything," she tried, her brown eyes pleading as she looked toward Henry. "Please, Henry? He's the only friend I have left. I just want to talk to him for a bit. It doesn't even have to be for that long." Carl bit back the urge to facepalm as the boy's face softened slightly. _Oh god, is he actually going to do it?_

Carl honestly was kind of hoping he wasn't. Because while he didn't really want to be locked up in this cell any longer than he had to be, Carl would really be worrying about what the hell was going on in Henry's brain if the teen actually believed that letting him out in the middle of the night was a good idea. Especially with no one else around. Now _that_ would just be plain stupid. 

Henry took an unsure step toward the cell as if mulling something over in his brain. Then, he took another step forward, picking through the keys in his hand before motioning for Lydia to move to the side, which she quickly obliged to.

Jesus... he was actually going to do it.

Carl honestly wasn't sure if this kid was being stupid, hormonal, or if he just had a death wish of some kind. Maybe all three. Hell if he knew. _Did I act like this at sixteen?_

He hoped not. He couldn't exactly remember -- the years had long since blurred together at this point. He couldn't even pick out a period in time where he had been sure he was a certain age. The only thing he knew now was that he was somewhere in his early twenties -- and that was mainly because of Glenn.

The lock clicked, and Lydia didn't waste a second in flinging the door wide open -- ignoring the loud clang it caused -- and tackling Carl into the biggest bear hug she could manage. He stumbled, letting out a startled laugh as she barreled into him, nearly sending the both of them toppling over. She then buried his face into the crook of his neck, her hair tickling his face, and he didn't hesitate in wrapping his arms around her -- holding her just as tightly as she was doing with him.

"Carl, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry-" Lydia babbled, accidentally switching to his real name instead of his title everyone in the pack called him by, which was something she almost never did since he's gained it. Carl pulled away from the embrace, holding Lydia's face with his hands. He lowered his own head, touching her forehead to his own.

"Hey, hey, Lydia - it's okay," he whispered, watching with surprise as her eyes began to water. Was she... was she crying? Carl couldn't help but be a little stunned by this. He didn't think he's ever seen her cry once since he's met her. "None of this is your fault."

"I got you caught," Lydia choked out, lowering her gaze and squeezing her eyes shut. "If... If I hadn't gotten-"

Carl cut her off, leaning back and brushing a strand of hair out of her face. "That isn't your fault, Lydia. It's Gamma's. He was the one who was supposed to be in charge of the group. He got them all killed - got us caught. If he hadn't sent me away with Kappa, then maybe I could've..." he shook his head, his voice soft as he whispered: "then maybe I could've stopped it." 

His voice was unsure as he spoke. In all honesty, he's not even sure if he was mad about being caught. If it hadn't happened, then would he have even found out about his father, Daryl, Maggie, Glenn, and Michonne being here in this community? Maybe he would've later on if Alpha decided to fight this community. But maybe not. Maybe Alpha would have just had their pack move past them, and he would have never been any wiser. And the scary thing was, he didn't even _know._

Carl turned, lifting his head to look at Henry, who was standing in the doorway of the cell, shuffling around awkwardly as he watched Carl and Lydia. Upon realizing that Carl was now looking at him, the teen jumped, quickly averting his gaze and taking a few steps back. And Lydia, as if suddenly remembering their audience, took a step away from Carl, clearing her throat awkwardly. Though judging by how close she stayed to him as he stepped out of the cell, she clearly was not willing to let him go anywhere out of her sight. 

"Um..." Henry seemed to tense up as Carl stepped out, closing the cell door with a faint clanging noise, and with good reason too. Maybe the teen had finally realized just how stupid letting Carl out was.

Carl took a step forward, tilting his head slightly and assessing Henry through a narrowed blue eye. He knew what the smart thing to do was -- kill Henry, take Lydia, and escape before anyone realized something was wrong. The teen would be easy to overpower: he was thin as a stick, had no weapons on him as far as Carl could tell, and probably didn't have as much fighting experience as Carl did. Not only that, but Carl had Lydia with him -- Henry was alone, and if Carl took him out quietly, no one would be any wiser until the early morning, maybe later than that. And by that time, they would be long gone.

Hell, in any other situation, Carl probably would have attacked him the moment Lydia had let go of him, but as of now, something inside was stopping him. It wasn't that he was a teenager. Carl had killed plenty of people -- many of them younger than Henry was. It was something else, but Carl was unable to pinpoint the exact reasoning for it. Maybe it was because he lived in the same community as his old group currently did? That could be it, but it didn't feel entirely right, either. It had to be something else then, but Carl didn't know what.

_I don't necessarily have to kill him._ Carl's mind reasoned, weighing his options. _I could just knock him out, tie him up, and leave before he wakes up._ But that didn't really sit well with him either.

_Just do it, Delta --_ Alpha's voice hissed into his head, just as low and as threatening as it was in reality -- _kill the boy. It's nothing you haven't done before. Or are you going_ **_soft?_ ** _Getting_ **_weak?_ ** _You're not getting weak, are you? I thought I taught you better than that._

Carl shook his head, trying to rid Alpha's voice from his mind. She was _not_ someone he wanted to think about right now. Instead, he moved his gaze back to Henry, who was eyeing Carl warily, slowly inching his way toward the staircase. Carl breathed a small sigh, running a hand through his hair as he made his decision.

"I'm assuming you're going to want us back in the cells before dawn?" Carl asked him after a second, arching a brow at the teen. He could practically feel Lydia's disbelieving stare burning a hole into his back as he spoke, but he didn't glance back to look at her. They'd have time to chat about all of this later -- hopefully.

Henry blinked, relaxing somewhat as if realizing that Carl was not, in fact, about to attack him. _He shouldn't be letting his guard down so quickly._ "Oh, um, yeah. But maybe a little sooner than that, I've seen people back home get up hours before the sun rises. But I've only been here for a couple of days, so I don't really know the schedules here as well as I do there."

Carl forced his face to stay into a neutral expression as he processed Henry's words. _Back home?_ Did that mean the kid didn't live in this community then? He finally spared a glance toward Lydia, who, as if sensing his silent question, gave him a small nod in confirmation. There must be another community around here then. _Interesting._

"Guess we'll have to be extra careful then," Carl mused aloud, tilting his head to the side suddenly as his gaze returned to Henry. "Oh, and can I give you some advice Henry?"

"Sure...?" The blond looked so utterly baffled as he said this that Carl couldn't help but snort at his expression.

"Don't do shit like this ever again." He watched as Henry's head snapped up, fixing Carl with a confused stare. "Oh, don't give me that look. You know what I'm talking about. Don't let prisoners out of their cells like you're doing with us. Lydia and I might not kill you, but others?" He gave the teen a grim smile. "Well, I think you get my point."

The teen simply stared at him, eyes going wide, but otherwise didn't respond. But judging by the way that Henry's face had just lost all its color in the time span of a few seconds, Carl had a feeling that the teen did, in fact, understand perfectly well what Carl was implying. No matter whether he liked it or not.

* * *

The brisk, cold night air felt surprisingly refreshing after being cooped up in a cell all day long and inside even longer. Even if he had been outside for a period of time when Daryl had relocated him, it hadn't been for long, and, not only that, he had been tied up and blinded too. Unlike now, where a cold breeze blew softly around him without a single thing blocking its way, sending bits of hair flying into his face that he had to brush aside every few seconds. But he paid it no mind, instead relishing in the feel of fresh air on his skin once more as he clambered out of the dark, humid cellar. 

From behind him, Henry and Lydia appeared. Henry held Lydia by the hand, helping her climb up while glancing around with wary eyes, searching for anyone who might have been in the area. Lydia's footsteps seemed much too loud in the silence of the night, but despite this, nobody appeared to have heard the two prisoners emerging from their prison. Carl turned, watching as Henry pulled the trapdoors shut with a faint creaking noise.

Henry then backed up, eyes moving from Carl to Lydia before nodding to himself, straightening up. "Come on," he whispered, so quietly that Carl almost didn't hear it. The teen turned and started walking away, and, after a short moment of hesitation, Carl and Lydia followed.

As they walked, Carl found his gaze moving toward the tall, wooden walls on one side of them, studying them through a curious eye. To their credit, the walls seemed to be standing tall, with no weaknesses visible at first glance. But as he looked at it a little longer, he could spy some weak points in the wood that might make it possible to climb or break down. Not only that, but the walls were made out of _wood_ \-- which meant they were flammable. So far, Carl really wasn't liking this community's chances against a possible attack from Alpha. 

Sighing, Carl returned his gaze back to the two teens walking a little ways ahead of him. Then, he did a double take, swearing softly under his breath when he spotted the silhouette of a person appear on the wall in front of them, steadily growing larger with each passing moment. From the looks of it, Henry seemed to have spotted the shadow as well because -- after a brief pause where he froze up -- turned and grabbed Lydia by the arm. The blonde teen then dove to the side, dragging Lydia behind one of the many trailers that seemed to be scattered around the place with Carl not too far behind.

It seemed that Henry had not been able to spy the stray brick just lying there in the darkness, however, and ended up tripping over it. He stumbled, falling to the ground and taking Lydia along with him. Lydia groaned as she hit the dirt, and Carl immediately darted over to her side. She pulled herself up to her knees, sending a small smile over in Carl's direction before grimacing and glancing down at her ankle. She rolled it around for a moment, a blank expression on her face.

"You okay?" Henry asked, and Carl glanced over at him, seeing the same look of worry on his face as Carl probably had on his own.

Lydia maneuvered herself into a sitting position, glancing over at Henry. "Yeah." She then looked toward Carl, a grin appearing on her face. "It takes more than a little fall to kill me," she said, mirroring Carl's earlier words. She sent him a wink, and he snorted in response, a grin of his own pulling at his lips.

"We can all just wait here," Henry said, and Carl turned his head to look over to the blonde, "I mean... until it's clear."

"Sounds good to me," Carl mused, moving himself into a cross-legged position on the grass. "I'm honestly just glad I'm not in a cell anymore."

Lydia hummed in agreement from her spot beside him but otherwise didn't respond. Carl looked over at her, a quiet groan escaping his lips when he saw her looking down at the dirt, seemingly searching for something. And -- unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you look at it -- Carl knew just what she was looking for. "Oh god, please don't tell me your about to do what I think you're going to do." 

Lydia responded by rolling her eyes at him but otherwise didn't stop what she was doing despite his plea. With a look of immense concentration on her face, Lydia reached down, digging her hands into the dirt. After a second or two, it seemed that she found what she was looking for. Lydia lifted her hand back up, a pleased look on her face as she revealed what she had been searching for. Carl, on the other hand, wasn't as happy with his friend's findings. Instead, he grimaced at the sight of the worm now wriggling in Lydia's open palm. 

"Really? Do you have to do this now?" He asked her, wrinkling his nose in irritation. Sure, it was nothing he hadn't seen before, but for fucks sake, why now?

"You're acting like you've never done this before either, Delta," Lydia said with a smirk. She glanced back down at her palm, adjusting it slightly and picking the wriggling animal up with two fingers. Then, Lydia looked back up at Carl, and, without even breaking his stare once, popped it into her mouth. Her face remained blank, not even phased as she began to chew. "Plus, I'm hungry." 

Upon seeing her quick glance over to Henry, whose face had gone slack with a mixture of shock and disgust upon seeing Lydia eat the worm, Carl felt understanding dawn upon him immediately. _She's trying to make him uncomfortable. Of course, she is._ Carl bit back the smile that was forming upon this realization. _Fine then, two can play it that game._ Sending Lydia a playful glare, he decided he would play along. "Fine, you have a point there. In fact... fork it over." He said, nodding toward the small hole she had dug.

A small laugh escaped from Lydia's lips, and she nodded, trying to hide the smile that was clearly threatening to break through. She reached back into the hole, brushing aside some dirt and weeds that were growing and picking up two more of the worms that had been squirming around inside. Without any hesitation, Carl plucked one of the worms out from her open palm, careful not to drop it as he cupped it in his hands. Sending a smirk in Henry's direction, he held the worm in between two fingers and, with only a moment's pause, dropped it into his mouth. 

The worm didn't really taste like anything -- except maybe like dirt. Which, while it wasn't the best taste in the world -- didn't really phase Carl all that much anymore. He had eaten worms (and a disturbing amount of other bugs) a couple of times in the past few years -- both before and after he had joined Alpha -- when the need for something to eat had, unfortunately, called for it. But, despite this, no matter how many times he did so, the feeling of the worm wriggling around in his mouth was an uncomfortable sensation every single time. Still, Carl chewed and swallowed the tiny thing without any complaints. He'd eaten worse, after all. Much worse.

"Bon appetit," he said after he swallowed, sending a wide smirk in Henry's direction. He would've winked if he could, but having one eye, unfortunately, made it so he couldn't do things like that. Which was honestly a huge bummer because that probably would have made Henry a million times more uncomfortable than he currently was right now.

Still, the look on Henry's face was _so_ worth it.

Apparently, though, Lydia wasn't done. She held out her hand toward Henry, motioning toward the other worm that was still wriggling around in her open palm. Henry gave a strained smile, and Lydia pulled back, grasping the worm in between two fingers, holding it above her head and sucking the dirt off with her mouth. Carl hid a grin as she stuck the now dirt-free worm out to Henry once more, who, after a brief moment of realization, took the worm into his hands before hastily shoving it into his mouth, chewing quickly. 

After a brief pause, Henry turned to stare at Lydia with wide eyes. He then cleared his throat and said: "I just ate a worm." The teen sounded as if he could hardly believe that he had actually just done that, and this time Carl wasn't able to hold back an amused snort at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. Who knew when the world first went to hell that, ten years later, he would be sneaking around with two teenagers and eating worms of all things. He sure as hell didn't, and yet, here he was.

Lydia gave Henry a small smile, looking somewhat amused herself at the blond's reaction. "You did."

Another few seconds passed by in relative silence. The three of them just sat there without saying a single word as a soft, gentle breeze flowed peacefully around them. Then Henry glanced around, nodding to himself. "Come on. Let's go." He said -- his voice a hushed whisper as he began clambering up to his feet. Carl got up as well, turning around in time to see Henry helping Lydia up. A brief spark of some unidentifiable emotion flared up inside him at the sight though Carl found that he had no idea why. He shook his head, clearing his confused thoughts from mind as he stepped aside to let Henry lead the way.

"Watch out for the brick." The blond murmured, stepping over it as he spoke. Lydia and Carl both went around it, exchanging a small look as Henry began speaking again. "That is the, uh-" he motioned toward one of the trailers -- the one they had just been hiding behind. "-the medical trailer. Enid's a _really_ good doctor."

"You have a doctor?" Lydia inquired, turning to get a good look at the trailer. The group stopped by a cluster of picnic tables, and as Carl glanced around, he could clearly tell that this was where everyone in the community ate. He reached out, letting his fingers brush over the table. 

"Yeah," Henry responded, glancing over at Lydia with a grin on his face, "Doctor, blacksmith, cobbler - you name it, we got it."

Carl arched his brow, "you name it, we got it? That mean you have a working TV here? Because I would _kill_ to watch TV again." Maybe that wasn't the best choice of words. Still, at seeing Henry's sheepish expression, he grinned. "Bummer. That would've been fun." He glanced over at Lydia, pausing when he spotted her fingers curling around a hammer lying on one of the tables. He met her gaze, a question in them. _You want to do this?_

Lydia inhaled sharply, moving her eyes away from Carl. "How long has this been?" She asked Henry, beginning to lift the hammer up from the table -- slowly too, as to not make any noise to clue Henry into what she was doing. Carl frowned, looking over to Henry, who had his back turned -- oblivious to the danger he was now in. 

"Oh, it's been built up for over six years now," Henry said, turning to look at Lydia. "Thing is, it's only gonna keep growing." There was thinly disguised pride in his voice as he said this, and Carl couldn't help the mixture of envy and pity that welled up inside him at this.

He felt pity that Henry actually believed that something like this would be able to stand forever -- because communities don't do that, they all fall eventually. Sure, it might have lasted this long, but it was only a matter of time before someone came along to put an end to that. What happened at the prison had taught him that. But at the same time, he was also a bit envious of the boy's certainty about it. Carl wished he could have that same certainty sometimes. That he could actually be able to believe that a community like this one could last. His dad had been like that back at the prison, and even he had at one point, but now?

"Places like this aren't supposed to exist," Lydia said, her voice snapping Carl out of his thoughts once more. She made a quick glance over her shoulder before looking back to Henry. A part of Carl wondered if he should really be letting her do this -- let her kill Henry. But he wasn't really one to judge, now was he? It was Lydia's decision, not his. "My mom said they couldn't. That's why they had to-"

A baby's cry split the air, and the three of them turned instantly. "That's why we-" Lydia broke off, and Carl quickly spotted a woman -- most likely a part of this community -- bouncing a baby in her arms, gently shushing it in an attempt to calm it down. An unexpected pain shot through Carl like lightning, and he stumbled -- heart twisting in his chest. Various images began flashing through his mind, of a sweet, blue-eyed little girl -- of Judith -- and he shook his head, trying to clear the images from his mind -- a nasty sense of grief and jealousy settling like rocks in his stomach as he watched the woman rock her child.

Movement in the corner of his eye suddenly caught his attention, and he turned as Lydia hurriedly put the hammer back down on the table where she had found it. Her eyes were wide and fearful, darting around the place as a weak whimper escaped her lips. Carl took a step forward, worry bubbling up inside him and swallowing his earlier jealousy and grief as his attention shifted to Lydia. "Lydia?" he tried softly in an attempt to coax her into looking at him. The girl whimpered again, grabbing her head and running her hands through her dark, matted hair -- which fell in her face as she began to curl in on herself. 

He swore, ignoring Henry's own confusion and worry as he took his panicked friend into his arms. Lydia didn't even seem to register Carl as she slumped against his chest, hands tightening in her hair. Lydia buried her face into his shirt as his arms coiled even tighter around her, whispering incoherently with her eyes screwed shut. "She's a good person," Carl heard her whimper, repeating those few words over and over. It took him a moment, but he soon realized just who she was talking about.

"Lydia, what's wrong?" Henry asked, looking panicked as he moved over next to the two of them. He then looked over to Carl. "Is she okay?" There was real worry in his voice, and Carl immediately felt guilty for ever thinking that this boy was anything but kind. A little naïve, a bit stupid, but he obviously cared.

Carl shook his head, "I don't know, she's never done this before." Sure, while he had comforted Lydia more times than he could count, it was never for this reason. Those times he knew what was wrong. Here he had no clue what had set her off. He was helpless, and he hated that. 

"Put me back in the cell," Lydia whispered, uncovering her face. She looked utterly distraught and was trembling in his arms. Her breathing was ragged, and he rubbed small circles into the small of her back, trying to calm her down, pushing back the confusion now forming inside him. He could wonder about that later -- right now, Lydia needed him.

Carl looked up at Henry, who looked stunned. "Okay," the blond said, giving a small nod as Carl helped Lydia regain her balance, "okay."

The three of them hurried back to the cellar, Carl with an arm wrapped around Lydia's shoulders. She was shaking with every step and had even almost fallen over at one point. By the time Henry had reopened the cellar, Carl was practically carrying her. In fact, right before they had started down the steps, he had swept her legs out from underneath her, holding her in bridal-style as they descended. Usually, Lydia would have protested to such a thing, but right now, she was totally silent, which worried him more than anything else.

Henry closed the cellar behind them before following Carl, peering at Lydia from over his shoulder. "Lydia?" The blond tried, a guilty look on his face.

Carl shook his head, "just open the cell, Henry." 

Henry nodded, albeit reluctantly, and as the teen took out the keys once more, Carl put Lydia -- who had started struggling in his arms -- back on the ground, and though she stumbled slightly, she didn't fall. "Are you sure you want to go back in there?" Carl asked her in a quiet voice, watching as Henry swung the cell door open.

Lydia just nodded, hugging her arms close to her chest. As soon as the cell door was open, she stepped inside. Henry then made a move to close it, but Lydia suddenly spun around, sticking her foot into the doorframe, efficiently stopping the other teen from closing it completely. "Wait," she rasped out, her voice hoarse. "Can... can you let Delta in here too?"

Henry faltered, "I don't..." he looked toward Carl and then back to Lydia. After a brief moment, he nodded, swinging the door open again. "Sure, I... I have a feeling I won't be able to stop him anyway." He gave Lydia a weak smile as Carl took a step inside the cell. Though it fell moments later as he locked the door. "I'm sorry..." he said softly, "I just wanted..." he shook his head, "I'm sorry."

And with that, the teen walked out of view. Carl listened as the boy started walking up the stairs, only when he heard the cellar door being closed did he turn back to Lydia. The girl had slid down to the floor, shoulders slumped with her arms coiled tightly around her body as she stared blankly out in front of her, looking shell shocked. Carefully, Carl kneeled down beside her, reaching out a hand to rest it on her shoulders. When she didn't react, Carl then sat down next to her. Only then did Lydia move -- curling against him as he wound an arm around her shoulders.

"Wanna talk about it?" Carl asked softly, twirling a strand of her hair between his fingers. He saw Lydia frown in the corner of his eye, her brows furrowing in thought. 

"I don't..." Lydia sighed, squeezing her eyes shut. "She's been lying to me... this whole time." Carl didn't need to ask who 'she' was. He knew instantly. 

"About what?" 

"My d-dad, how he died... everything." Carl frowned, mulling over her words with great thought. He had heard Lydia's story about her dad a couple times before. How the man had been so cruel to her in the six years that she'd been alive. How he had died and how her mom had saved her. And yet, something about the story hadn't sat well with him. Never had. Why would an abusive father sing to his daughter when she was scared? Why would he save her if he didn't really care? None of that had made any sense to Carl, and now it seemed that there was a reason why. 

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Carl said after a moment, reaching out and squeezing her hand.

"Okay," Lydia breathed, relief coating her voice. "I don't really..." she looked up at him, brown eyes wide. "Can I ask you something, Delta?"

"Knock yourself out," he said, a flare of triumph bubbling up inside him at the sight of the small smile spreading across her face.

"Why did... you seemed scared too." Lydia forced out, blinking slowly. "Well, not scared. But... when the baby started crying, you looked... really, really sad." 

Carl felt as if he'd just been punched in the stomach. That all the breath in his lungs had just left him in one big whoosh. He honestly shouldn't have felt so surprised. Lydia had always been good at reading people. Especially him. He took a deep breath, closing his eye and resting it against the stone wall behind them. "I-" he paused, reopening his eye. "The baby reminded me of someone, I suppose."

"Your sister?" Lydia guessed, and Carl lifted his head, giving her a sad smile. 

"Yeah," he responded weakly, "she would have been at least nine or ten now." It was kind of hard to believe. That the little baby girl he used to rock in his arms would have been old enough to walk and talk now. 

_Could be, you mean,_ a voice in his mind whispered, _you never saw her die._ He frowned, trying desperately to push those thoughts away. Carl wasn't stupid, far from it, but even he knew the possibility of a baby making it out of a mess like that. They weren't very high. And no matter how much he hated to admit it, his little sister was most likely dead. 

Hell, how did he even know if everyone else was alive? What if only his dad, Michonne, Maggie, Glenn, and Daryl had made it out? He knew that it was unlikely -- impossible, really -- that all of his old group had made it out of the chaos happening at the prison, that they had survived all this time. He knew that some of them must have died sometime during the past eight years, but how many? Who lived, who didn't? He didn't think he was prepared to know, but he couldn't help but wonder about it either. 

Lydia rested her head on his shoulder. "You never told me her name." 

"You never asked," Carl replied.

There was a short pause before Lydia asked: "can you tell me?"

"Judith," Carl said after a moment, a fresh wave of pain washing through him. An image of the giggling little baby he had last seen years ago rose within his mind, and he closed his eye, trying to will it away. "Her name was Judith."

As if sensing the wave of emotions now coursing through him, Lydia grabbed his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. "You okay?" She asked softly, eyes filled with worry.

"I'm..." he started, before quickly shaking his head, "not really. You?"

She smiled, albeit bitterly, reaching up a hand to brush away the strands of hair that hung in his face, "feel like I just learned my whole life was a lie. Which, honestly, isn't really that far off." 

Carl snorted in faint amusement, the corners of his lips pulling up into a weak smile. He then pulled her closer to him, fully wrapping his arms around her and holding her as tight as he possibly could. He rested his chin on top of her head, running a hand through her matted hair. "Look at us, two giant fucking messes. We're a right pair, aren't we?"

Lydia let out a hollow laugh, burying her face into his chest and curling her arms around his waist. "We really are."

* * *

The cellar door opened with a creak and a thud, pulling Carl out of his slumber. Lydia, who was lying practically on top of him, made a confused noise, blinking open her eyes. In the distance, Carl could hear a rooster crowing, followed by the sound of multiple pairs of footsteps making their way down the steps. Carl tensed, instinctively reaching for a knife only to let out a quiet string of curses upon remembering he had none.

A rumpled looking Daryl Dixon came into view, followed by Maggie -- who looked as if she had just rolled out of bed -- and a sheepish looking Henry who appeared very reminiscent of a kicked puppy. Daryl was carrying a tray of food in his hands -- Carl could smell something good on there, and, against his will, his stomach let out a low growl. Daryl paused for a second, but altogether didn't look too surprised when he saw Carl and Lydia sitting together on the floor. 

Maggie looked just about the same, sending Henry an annoyed glare, which immediately made the blond boy cringe back.

"What is with you and disobeying orders," Maggie asked him, her voice filled with a mix of frustration, amusement, and exasperation. Henry looked down at his feet, a small scowl on his face as he scuffed his feet against the floor.

"In his defense," Carl called out, wincing slightly when Maggie's gaze moved to him, "I probably would have just gone in here anyway. Whether he let me or not. So..."

Maggie's eyes narrowed into slits at Carl's word, and Daryl, from his spot next to her, said: "to be fair, do ya really think tha' Henry would be able to stop 'im? Kid's practically twig compared to everyone else." Maggie frowned, ignoring Henry's indignant 'hey!' but otherwise didn't say anything else

Lydia shifted from her spot beside him, pulling herself up to her knees. "My ear hurts," she said, her voice still hoarse from sleep, "Everything hurts." She paused, cringing when Carl's head snapped around to look at her. "You still have those pills?"

"I'm sorry... what? You were in pain?!" Carl asked, sounding horrified. 

Lydia sent him a weak grin as Maggie took a step forward, pulling a pill bottle from her pocket. Daryl put the tray of food down on a shelf across from the cell. The archer then picked up something that Carl couldn't see, dipping it into water and turning around. The object was a ladle or spoon of some kind, and the sight of it only made Carl realize just how thirsty he was. He rubbed his throat, wondering when the last time he had something to drink was. Hershel had brought him some along with a single apple before the kid had to go back to the bed, but Carl didn't think that he's had anything since then. 

Maggie tapped a couple of pills into her palm, passing them to Lydia, who took them into her hands gratefully. She then reached out again as Daryl pushed the water through the bars, not caring as it dripped onto her. Lydia then popped the pills into her mouth, taking a long sip of the water. She pulled back after a moment, turning and handing Carl the ladle. He blinked in surprise but took it from her either way, putting it to his mouth and draining whatever water was still left in it. The dryness in his throat still remained, but it was less intense than it had been before.

Daryl cleared his throat, and Carl reached back through the bars, handing the empty spoon back to the man, who put it back in its original place before moving in front of the bars. Lydia sat on her knees, looking up to meet Daryl's eyes. "My mom's not coming for me. For us." She stated, her voice tinged with a hint of both sadness and relief, "None of them are. If someone dies or gets taken or whatever-" she looked toward Carl briefly, who gave her a small nod, urging her to go on. Lydia took in a deep breath, moving her gaze back to Daryl, "they... they move on. Like they never existed."

He could see Maggie's frown deepening as she processed Lydia's words. Henry, who stood behind her, looked dumbstruck while Daryl's face remained blank. Carl wished that the man would show some kind of emotion. He hated to admit it, but it was making him uneasy.

"That's... that's how it's always been." Lydia continued, her voice wobbling. "They don't - come into contact with big groups unless they don't have another choice." Lydia looked down, worrying her bottom lip in between her teeth before opening her mouth again. "That's why I-" she paused, quickly correcting herself, "-that's why we were trying to find out everything we could about you. 'Cause when we escaped, we'd have something to give them. There would be no reason for them to take us back otherwise."

"You're her daughter," Henry said, voice colored with disbelief and anger. "Does that not matter?"

Lydia remained silent, averting her gaze and looking toward the ground. Carl answered for her: "her mother only cares about those who are useful to her. I am - I was - her fourth in command, but when I got caught, I was no longer any use to her. That's how it works. How it always had worked."

"What about our missing people?" Daryl asked, and Carl blinked in surprise. 

"Missing people?" He echoed. "I don't..." Carl frowned, "if... if you had people go missing recently and her mom found them-" he shook his head, a grimace on his face, "-there would be no reason for her to keep them alive. They're probably dead. I'm sorry." 

Daryl nodded, processing this information. If he felt anything -- grief or something -- at hearing that two of his people were probably dead, it didn't show. "She got a camp somewhere?"

"Near the guard bridge," Carl answered, trying his best to recall the camp's location. "I don't know exactly where. A mile or two east, I think. But I doubt that... that they stayed there. We - they - don't like staying in one place for long, especially if two of us got caught. Hell, they probably moved as soon as they realized we got caught." 

"The story about your family... was any of it true?" Henry asked Lydia, who looked up at the sound of his voice.

"Henry!" Maggie hissed, a look of annoyance passing over her face.

"I thought all of it was," Lydia said, her voice cracking as she spoke. "I need it to be. But I had it all mixed up. It was a lie, but... the lie wasn't mine. My mom," she cleared her throat, and Carl reached out to grab her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. "My mom... she told it to me... over and over, for years. But... deep down, I guess I already knew-" she gasped, her voice straining, clearly trying her best not to cry. "I knew what she was, and... I knew what she did."

Lydia screwed her eyes shut, a lone tear slipping down her cheek. She bowed her head, leaning into Carl as she wiped her face. "I..."

Daryl cleared his throat suddenly, adjusting his vest. Carl's gaze -- along with everyone else's -- moved over to him. Carl doesn't know why, but for some reason, something about the way that Daryl now looked sent a faint feeling of dread creeping down his spine. He couldn't place it entirely, but he had a feeling that something was about to happen. And he was, unfortunately, proven right.

"Before ya move on," Daryl said, his eyes not moving from Carl. "I want to talk to him," he muttered, waving a hand in Carl's direction, ignoring the confused looks on Maggie, Henry's, and Lydia's face. "Alone."

Huh. Why was Carl suddenly getting a horrible feeling?

"Any reason why?" Maggie asked after a few seconds, curiosity blatant in her tone. She arched a brow, crossing her arms and tilting her head up to look at Daryl.

"Yes, I just want to ask him somethin." A doubtful expression crossed Maggie's face. "Not gonna kill him. Jus' gimmie a couple minutes to talk to him, will you?" Maggie eyed him uncertainly, obviously suspicious about something, but nodded reluctantly after a few seconds.

"Don't take too long," Maggie warned him. Daryl gave her a nod, reaching for the keys to unlock the door with.

Carl felt his stomach drop at Maggie's words. Oh god, this whole conversation was giving him loads of horrible feelings. What the hell could Daryl want to talk to him about? Lydia looked like she wanted to protest as he pulled himself to his feet but seemingly knew better than to do so. Carl gave her a small smile, one that was more than a little forced, and took in a deep breath, taking a step forward as Daryl swung the door open, the archer's eyes not leaving his. After a moment, Daryl grabbed Carl by the arm in a firm yet surprisingly gentle grip, pulling him away as the cell door swung close and toward the staircase.

They walked up in silence, and seeing as the cellar door was still wide open, didn't have to stop as they emerged back into the light. Carl lifted a hand, blinking back the watering in his eye as sunlight streamed into his vision. He didn't get much time to adjust as Daryl started pulling him forward, ignoring the stares and whispers of the people around him as he strode toward a large house in the middle of the community. Now that he looked, Carl could see that this whole place was much larger than it had first seemed, especially in broad daylight. 

"Not going to tie me up again?" Carl asked as they made their way up the steps. Daryl only gives him a curt glance before opening the door. 

They walk into the house in total silence, Carl looking around and taking in the place which was much bigger and nicer than he had first expected. Daryl let go of his arm, instead motioning for him to follow. The archer opened one of the doors and ducked inside, Carl following behind him with hesitant steps. It's an office by the looks of it or used to be, at least, there's a desk on one side of the room, various paintings of people scattered all across the walls. Carl's heart jumped when he realized he knew some of the people in the portraits: Tyreese, Bob, Sasha, Hershel, Lizzie, Mika, a few others he couldn't recognize... and holy shit, was that Sophia on one of them? 

It was.

Were... were these paintings of all the ones they'd lost?

His gaze lingered on the ones of Tyreese, Sasha, Bob, Lizzie, and Mika. People he knew. People who must've died sometime in the time that had been gone. How had it happened? How did each of them eventually meet their fates? By the looks of it, Lizzie had Mika's portraits had been done with them still as children, so he could only assume it had happened sometime after the prison. Absently, he found himself searching for others he knew: Beth, Carol, and even Judith, and upon finding none, Carl was unsure whether he should be relieved or not. Their lack of portraits didn't mean they were still alive. 

Carl has his attention snapped back into reality when he registered the sound of laughter somewhere in the room. When he looked away from the paintings, he's struck by the sudden realization that _Daryl_ was the one laughing. The man was leaning on the now closed door. Probably having let go of Carl at some point while he'd been staring at the portraits. The archer was now shaking his head, chuckling -- a single hand covering his face. 

Carl simply stood there for a few moments, confused and altogether unsure of what to feel. Because, first of all, Daryl was _laughing,_ and that itself was something that Carl was pretty sure he had never witnessed or heard ever in his entire life. Sure, before the prison fell, he'd seen the man give a small laugh once or twice, but even then, that had been rare as hell. Secondly, Daryl was laughing, and Carl isn't even sure why. A part of him was wondering that maybe Daryl snapped and finally went insane or some shit. But another part of him had a feeling he knew just what was causing Daryl to act this way.

Daryl stopped laughing after a few more seconds, taking in a deep breath and raising his head, trying to regain control of his composure. He stared Carl in the eye, pushing himself away from the door and striding forward. Carl automatically took a step back, a bad feeling now churning in his gut. 

"Ya know, I'm surprised nobody else has noticed," Daryl said after a few moments, pulling to a halt and crossing his arms, "either they're all blind as shit, or I'm the only one who notices shit around here."

Carl froze, his eye going wide as the words registered in his mind. As he realized the implications of what Daryl was now saying.

Oh fuck.

Daryl knew.

_Daryl knew who he was._

Oh fuck.

Shit, shit, shit, _shit._

Carl inhaled slowly, trying to calm himself. Okay, he could do this. He's been with Alpha for nearly a decade now. He knew how to lie, how to manipulate. He's kept his cool whenever Alpha had been pissed at him. Or just angry in general. Daryl was nothing compared to Alpha -- or Beta, for that matter. If he can manage to calm a raging Alpha down when she was pissed at him or Lydia for something, he could do something similar with Daryl, right?

Carl bit back a sigh, pulling his face into a neutral expression -- something he had learned and mastered after being with Alpha and the Whisperers for so long. Carl then tilted his head up to look up at the archer, furrowing his eyebrows and trying his best to give Daryl the most confused look he could muster.

"I'm sorry?" Carl shook his head. "What the hell are you going on about?"

"Don't start playin' dumb with me," Daryl muttered, rolling his eyes. "I know it's you, Carl."

Carl's first instinct was to lie. His first instinct is to say something to throw Daryl off track, to toss his suspicions elsewhere for good. Daryl couldn't know who he was. He couldn't. Because then Daryl would tell someone, and then that person would tell someone, and that would go on until his dad would eventually find out, and then his dad would realize just what kind of person Carl had become while they'd been separated and-

-the thing was, Daryl was one of the smartest people that Carl knew -- a hunter at heart -- something that not even Beta was, and, true to the hunter he was, had already managed -- in the time span of a few days to not only figure out who Carl was but had also found the walls Carl had placed so carefully around him in the past few years that not even Lydia has seen through. And not only did he find them, he fucking just tore them all down in a few short sentences, as if they were nothing but a pile of rubble that needed moving aside.

There was no denying this, not anymore. Carl has avoided this for long enough. No matter how much he wanted to keep it hidden, the truth had to come out eventually.

So he hunched his shoulders, running a hand through his hair and, for once, not giving a single damn about all the knots and tangles it had in it. He stayed quiet for a long moment, waiting in silence to see if Daryl would say anything, and when he doesn't, Carl forced himself to lift his head, meeting the archer's gaze head-on. 

"How long have you known?" He asked in a voice that was oh so small. It's quiet, nearly a whisper, but Carl has no doubt that the man had heard it. 

"I started suspecting a little while after you and Lydia came 'ere." Daryl responded. "But it was only when Hershel ended up sneakin' into the room you were in the first night that I knew for sure." Carl's head snapped up, his eye widening with a mix of disbelief and surprise -- _he had been listening to that?_ Daryl continued, seemingly oblivious to Carl's shock. "Saw him headin' into the room, was about to go in an' grab him, but then you started talkin' to him. You told him your name." 

"I did," Carl agreed begrudgingly, "I didn't know why, but I did." He looked away again, crossing his arms and squeezing his eye shut. He could hear people mingling around outside, and he knew it was only a matter of time before Maggie came looking for them. "Dad doesn't know, does he?" 

"No, he doesn't," Daryl said, his voice unimaginably soft. The archer was looking at Carl in an odd way, in a sad way. Like he can hardly believe that it was him. And Carl found that he couldn't blame the man for thinking that way. "But... I think he might have a hunch."

"A hunch?" Carl echoed, feeling the fear inside him beginning to take over again. 

"I don' know what it is." Daryl admitted, "but he's been seein' shit. Hallucinatin like he did with your ma after she died. It's been eight years, and... he feels really guilty 'bout it all. Thinks it's his fault, that he could'a done somethin' to prevent it." 

Carl couldn't help but feel stunned. His dad blamed himself? He blinked slowly, trying to process this new information. "It's not his fault..." Carl said in a soft voice, "I-I would be lying if I said I hadn't been scared shitless after, that I hadn't been angry with him for... everything. But I never blamed him."

"Then why haven't you said anythin?" Daryl demanded, his eyes narrowing as his voice became hard. "Do you realize just how much it's been eatin' away at him? How much he's been hurting since you-"

"And I haven't?!" Carl cried out, taking a step forward, his temper beginning to flare. "You think I haven't been hurting either?! I have gone through hell and back, Daryl! I thought... I thought you were all _dead."_

"Dead?" Now it's Daryl's turn to be confused.

Carl shrugged, his shoulders tense. He sniffed, taking in a long, deep breath, and hugged his arms tightly to his chest. "I... I came across one of his signs - the one saying to go to Terminus," he explained, watching the realization dawn on Daryl's face, "I did go there, but when I did, the whole place was in ruins... I thought... I thought you had all-" 

"And so you just decided not to tell him when you did find him again? What kind of fucking logic is that?!" Daryl asked, clearly still enraged. "He was so fucking distraught. He thought he failed you, that you were dead, that-"

"BECAUSE THAT BOY IS DEAD!" Daryl quieted, staring at Carl with wide eyes. "I-" Carl squeezed his eye shut, "I didn't tell him because... because he was looking for a dead boy. That me - the one you _knew_ \- he doesn't exist anymore. That boy died a long time ago. I was... I was trying to protect him." Carl spat out, his voice rising. He tried his best to keep calm because if anyone overheard this... "tell me something, Daryl. Do you think he would be happy if he learned just what kind of person I am now? Do you?"

Before Daryl could say anything, Carl started speaking again. "I'm not 'Carl Grimes' anymore, Daryl. I haven't been for years. I'm a murderer. I've killed hundreds of people, people who didn't even deserve it: kids, teenagers - people who were just trying to defend their home. I'm not a good person - I'm a monster. And if he knew the things I did, he would be _shattered."_

"Do ya really think that?" Daryl asked, crossing his arms as he stared down at Carl. "That he would hate you for the things you did? We've all done shit we've regretted. Did you want'ta do any of that?"

"Nobody made me do it either," Carl shot back, "I did it by myself. Those people I killed - I didn't know them, and you know what, I never felt bad for a single one of their deaths. Does that make me a good person?" Daryl visibly recoiled at this, but a look of understanding was passing through his face too. "You can't trust anyone out there, Daryl. I learned that the hard way," he motioned toward his eye -- a hollow smile on his face.

"And those burns on your face? That scar on your wrist? The giant fucking hole in your face?" Daryl spat out. "How you keep fucking flinching whenever anyone but Lydia touches you? You've gone through hell, kid. It doesn't take a genius to see that. But ya know what-" Daryl reached out, looking as if he were about to put a hand on Carl's shoulder before thinking better of it. "What Lydia said, about your people not comin' for you. That means you can stay with us. You and your dad, you can-"

But whatever Daryl was going to say next was interrupted by the door to the office swinging open. A disheveled Glenn walked in, his eyes large and his face stuck in an expression of both fear and determination. He paused briefly at the thick tension in the room, taking in a deep breath. Daryl made a move to open his mouth, clearly about to say something, but Glenn beat him to it. 

"Daryl, you need to come and see this," Glenn said hoarsely. "The kid too. Rick's out there right now, but..." he trailed off.

"But what?" Daryl snapped, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Can it wait? This is important."

"No, it can't wait. It's pretty fucking important," Glenn said breathily. "It's bad, as in really-"

But Glenn doesn't have the time to finish his sentence. With the door now wide open, he can now hear everything going on outside. In the distance, there's the sound of people shouting, followed by an eerie silence that seemed to swallow up everything else. Carl looked up, as did Daryl and Glenn, and he felt a pit of dread form in his stomach as a voice -- a very familiar one at that -- echoed throughout the community, silencing even the faintest of murmurs still going around.

Carl felt the blood drain from his face.

Alpha has come to Hilltop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHA! The moment you have all been waiting for. Alpha's first appearance! 
> 
> And on another note, I like Henry. I really do, but I have to admit he definitely isn't the smartest of people. Like, the dude really has a problem with letting enemies out. Sure, when he did it with the Saviors he was ten and was grieving for his brother. But like, it’s common sense man! You don’t do it. 
> 
> Also, sorry for the cliffhanger.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't really satisfied with this chapter, but it was the best I could do. Here you go!

Carl would like to say that he was a relatively calm person. Over the years, he had learned to keep his cool and remain calm even in the worst of situations. Even when he was at a point in time where death seemed impossible to evade, he never panicked, not once. Because to panic or cry or let the dead take him would be the equivalent of giving up -- of letting himself die. And he did not like giving up, nor did he like dying. He was stubborn like that, he supposed.

So no, Carl did not panic very often.

He didn't freak out or lose it over something when under orders from Alpha. Or Beta. Or anyone who was in charge at the time. Hell, he didn't even panic all that much in general. Carl didn't panic because panicking in the heat of the moment -- when they were herding walkers or in the middle of some kind of battle -- meant death. It meant a horrible, painful death at the rotted hands of the dead or a quick one from a bullet to the head or a knife to the stomach, and frankly, Carl did not want to die, and he wasn't planning on letting that happen anytime soon. Death could go fuck right off and take some other poor, unfortunate soul to its realm.

But right now, it was safe to say that Carl was panicking. Panicking quite terribly, to be honest. Not because Daryl had figured out who he was -- though he wasn't ashamed to admit that he had definitely been freaking out a little when that had happened. No, Carl was panicking for a whole different reason entirely. And right now, he needed to get his head out of his ass to find a way to somehow deal with this new situation. That 'new' situation being his leader -- who he had previously thought had abandoned him and Lydia in the place they'd been captured -- appearing at the gates of Hilltop, demanding their return.

Alpha had come to Hilltop.

But... that couldn't be right. Could it? Alpha didn't come back for those who got captured. She simply left them and continued on with leading the pack, completely uncaring about what might happen to those who got caught: be it death or torture or something much, much worse. Carl had seen it happen hundreds of times since he's been a part of the Whisperers. Over and over and over without a single shred of remorse ever being shown. No matter how important or useful the one caught may or may not be, if they got captured, she left them without a second thought. That was just how it was. Those were the rules that they followed, and he had accepted that a long, long time ago.

But, apparently, there were exceptions. Something that Carl hadn't even been aware of up until now.

Everyone in the community was quiet for a long time after Alpha had spoken. Only a few hushed murmurs could still be heard as the people stopped whatever it was that they were doing to stare up at the gate. And although it was closed and most were unable to see what was going on, they had all heard Alpha's voice, and they knew that something was going on, making them all uneasy. The anxiety surrounding them all was thick and heavy, hanging in the air as fog often did in the early mornings, and the tension was so thick that one could almost cut it with a knife.

Daryl and Glenn rushed out of the room and right out through the front doors of the large house, and, after a few moments of hesitation, Carl followed them. His footsteps were near silent on the wood flooring of the house. No one seemed to pay him any mind as he emerged, most of them much too preoccupied with the new enemy now right outside their door to really notice much else. And while a few Hilltoppers did seem to see him, none of them seemed to care very much about him being outside of his cell at all -- Carl was just glad no one was yelling at him.

"Rick?" Daryl called out from where he was ahead of Carl, his voice quiet enough not to be heard outside the walls, and Carl couldn't help but tense as he caught sight of his father a few feet in front of them, turning around at the sound of Daryl's voice. Carl would have hidden if he could have, but the man spotted him just as quickly as Carl had him, and so hiding became impossible.

His father faltered the moment he saw Carl, eyes widening slightly in surprise. Most likely at seeing him out of his cell, he guessed. Or maybe if what Daryl said was true, had once again recognized the resemblance between Delta and his long-lost son. Carl swallowed down the lump forming in his throat, forcing himself to meet his father's gaze, allowing his face to melt into a more neutral expression. He could already feel Daryl's gaze return back to him, burning holes into his side as the two of them pulled to a halt in front of Rick.

"What's goin' on out here?" Daryl hissed, eyes moving away from Carl and flickering up to where a group of people had climbed up onto what Carl could only assume was the lookout. "Glenn said to come out 'ere, didn't say why. Is it-"

"-my people, is it them?" Carl interjected, praying with every fiber of his being that it wasn't. That it was just some other random group and that Carl was simply mistaken. Though despite his hope, he knew perfectly well that it was the pack. He had heard Alpha speaking, even if he hadn't been able to discern what exactly she had been saying. Carl could recognize her voice anywhere. It was her.

His father looked taken aback at the sound of his voice, seemingly surprised by the fact that Carl had even spoken. Daryl was looking at him curiously now too -- his expression darkening somewhat when he heard Carl refer to them as 'his' people. But Carl ignored it, his attention focused on his father and whatever the hell his answer may or may not be. Carl already knew what it was, though. It was a foolish hope to believe that it might not be Alpha, that Carl and Lydia would be able to stay here as Daryl had offered. Since when had anything ever gone the right way for Carl? Everything always went wrong, and he was stupid for hoping that things might have taken a turn for the better.

"Seeing as she's out there asking for her two people back -- yes." There was something reluctant in his father's tone as he answered. As if he wasn't at all that keen on letting him and Lydia go. That would make sense, Carl supposed. That and his father never really liked taking orders from people. An odd sense of sadness erupted inside Carl, and he pulled his eyes away from his father, trying to somehow will it away.

"We don' have'ta do what she says," Daryl said suddenly, and it took Carl a second to realize that the archer was talking to him now, "you can stay, you know that. You don't have to go anywhere with that woman if you don't want to."

The offer was tempting. Awfully tempting. A large part of Carl wanted nothing more than to stay within this community's walls with his father and Daryl and Lydia and Maggie and Hershel and Glenn. Hell, even Henry, and he hadn't even known the fucker for that long. In fact, for a second, he was inclined to do just that, to accept Daryl's offer and stay right here, but then reality, along with everything else, soon caught up to him.

Alpha wasn't a stupid woman -- in fact, she was the exact opposite. She was smart, cunning, manipulative, conniving, and so many other things. She wouldn't have come to Hilltop to demand he and Lydia's return if she didn't have some way to ensure that it would happen. And, if he was remembering things correctly, Daryl had said back in the cellar with him, Maggie, Henry, and Lydia that two of their people had gone missing recently. There was no way that, right after he and Lydia had gotten caught, that two of Hilltop's people had coincidentally gone missing. That was Alpha's doing, no doubt, and knowing her, she was going to use those two people -- alive or dead -- to her advantage.

So there was no denying that, no matter how much he wished that they could, Carl and Lydia couldn't stay. It was simply impossible.

Ignoring the churning whirlwind of emotions still inside him, Carl gave Daryl a small shake of his head, quickly averting his gaze so he wouldn't have to see the look of anger and disappointment on his face right after. Instead, Carl focused his attention back on the lookout area, where one of the people up there had begun speaking to Alpha, who was no doubt somewhere on the other side of that gate. A woman with dark, long hair and a green jacket had been brave enough to call out after a long, tense silence: "Our community is more than capable of defending itself!"

"I show you my face because we mean you no harm." Alpha's voice called out in return, and Carl felt himself go rigid, a shiver going down his spine. Hearing her voice alone often made Carl freeze in place, though whether it was out of fear, surprise, or respect he never knew. What he did know, however, was that her words were lies -- much like the story she had told Lydia about her father. There was no way that Alpha meant this community 'no harm.' Carl already knew she would try and tear it down just like she had with so many others. "I just want my people. I know you have them."

The tense silence returned soon after that, and, when a few seconds passed with no actions being made, Daryl muttered something under his breath, striding forward in the direction of the lookout. The archer started climbing up, Carl's father following seconds later. 

Carl was then left standing alone, and he crossed his arms, hugging them tightly over his chest. He inhaled deeply, closing his eye and trying desperately to ignore the many stares that he could feel the people of Hilltop giving him since Alpha's announcement. The murmurs were starting up again. Carl just wanted them all to shut  _ up. _

"You should turn around," Carl heard Daryl say, his voice switching from the (somewhat) kind tone of voice he had been using when speaking to Carl to a more threatening one that he remembered the man often using on enemies or people he generally disliked. It was one that Daryl had also used on Carl before the archer had found out his real identity. "Leave now, and no one gets hurt."

Oh, how Carl wished things could be that easy. That Alpha might actually heed Daryl's words and leave. But he also knew that the possibility of that ever happening was... well... close to none, really. Alpha hardly ever got intimidated, hardly ever listened to anyone other than Beta. There would be no reason for that to change now.

And as intimidating as Daryl could be, he was nothing that Alpha hadn't already seen. Nothing compared to how intimidating Alpha could be herself. 

There was a pause. "Wrong answer," Alpha said, her voice ringing loud and clear throughout Hilltop. There was another silence, and then he saw one of the people up on the lookout recoil suddenly. Then, the pit of dread that had begun to form in his stomach only increased in size. One of the people up there -- a young woman around Carl's age or a little older -- held up a pair of binoculars, most likely looking down at the area around Alpha's group. She said something quietly to Carl's father, who gave the woman a small nod, muttering something back to her in return.

All the people up on the lookout were talking to one another now. Though their voices were much too quiet for Carl and anyone else down on the ground to understand. Finally, after a few seconds of their supposed arguing, one of them turned back to the outside of the gate and called out: "Did you kill our friends? We found their horses."

Another brief pause. "No," Alpha said, ""Which one of you leads these people?"

_ Don't tell her,  _ Carl prayed,  _ please for fucks sake, have some goddamn sense and do not tell her. _

"The hell does it matter?" Daryl snapped, and Carl found himself heaving a small sigh of relief.

The soft pitter patter of footsteps came up behind him, and he turned, nearly flinching away as a young woman with short brown hair pulled to a stop beside him, her shoulders brushing against his. She didn't seem to pay Carl any mind, eyes pinned on the lookout instead. He shifted, uncomfortable with how close she now was to him. Carl took a small step back, away from the woman so she wouldn't be intruding on his space nearly as much.

Alpha's voice rang out once more, distracting him from his discomfort: "Then I'll just address all of you. Your people crossed into our land. There will be no conflict-" lies "-your people killed our people. There will be no conflict-" more lies "-I'm done talkin'. Bring me both my people, or there will be conflict."

Daryl seemed to bristle with rage at her words, muttering something to Carl's father before turning suddenly, quickly catching the other people who were standing on the lookout's attention. He started climbing down, the others following. Carl started toward him, hesitating for a split second when he saw his father jumping down from the lookout as well.

The woman who had previously been standing next to him rushed forward, accidentally pushing Carl to the side in her haste to get to Daryl. "Does she have Alden and Luke?" She shot out instantly, her eyes widened with worry. Daryl shook his head.

"I don't know." The man grunted, eyes locking onto Carl. "What abou' you, have any ideas?"

Carl swallowed down the lump in his throat, mouth going dry. "I don't-" he really wasn't liking all the attention that was now directed onto him "-maybe? Probably? I don't know. She's unpredictable. Even I can't tell what she's gonna do if you don't hand us over to her. I can only guess-"

"Wait, what do you mean?" Henry's voice asked from behind him. Carl turned, biting back a yelp as Daryl brushed past him. What was it now with people nearly knocking him over? "Hand you over? What's going on?"

Carl sighed, meeting Henry's eyes and watching as the realization dawned in them. "No, we-" the teen turned toward Daryl, quickening his pace to follow the archer, "-we can't do that!"

"You don't have much choice, dumbass," Carl snapped at the teen, though the boy gave no indication of hearing. "Do you really think she came here expecting us to just be handed back? She has some way to ensure you hand us back. She's not stupid."

Daryl, by the looks of it, had heard what Carl said, turning back to look at him and shaking his head. "You ain't goin' back to her. Neither is the girl. I won't let them take you both." 

"Then what are we doing, Daryl? We don't have very many options." Carl's father asked from behind him, and Carl jumped, nearly falling over from surprise and fear, his hand automatically reaching for his knife -- which he still hadn't gotten back. Carl caught his footing fairly quickly, face red as he rushed forward to catch up to Daryl and to avoid any potential confrontation with his father. If he had looked back, however, he would have seen that his father had frozen in place, staring off after him with lost, confused, and grief-filled blue eyes -- Delta's terrified reaction having hurt him despite the man having no idea why.

Carl hadn't looked back, however, and therefore had not seen the look on his father's face, nor did he see the way that the man stared after him longingly as he went. He caught up to Daryl and Henry, and the woman as Daryl pulled to a stop by the gate. "She's done talkin'," he was saying, turning to Henry with an eerily familiar fire in his eyes, "I'm not."

Before he could ask what he was talking about, someone grabbed Carl by the arm, yanking him back as the gates were pulled open. He yelped in surprise, struggling for a brief moment before finally relaxing when he realized it was only Glenn, who had pulled him out of view from anyone who might have been looking in through the gate. Or, in other words, out of sight from Alpha, who would have no doubt seen him if Glenn hadn't pulled him away. "Smart," he breathed, giving Glenn a small grin -- though it felt forced despite his best efforts at making it feel genuine.

Glenn responded by giving him a tired smile of his own. "Thought it wouldn't be a good thing if they saw one of their own standing among us." Carl nodded, mouth growing dry as the words registered. He would have had to have done a whole lot of explaining if Alpha had seen him standing there.

The gates creaked back shut as two people pulled them closed again, and, after making sure they were staying closed, Glenn released his grip on Carl's arm, turning back to the lookout and yelling some to Maggie. As soon as Carl was free, he rubbed at his arm and twisted around, prepared to find a place with a little less people. Then, a movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and Carl turned again, catching a glimpse of blond hair disappearing behind one of the trailers. _ Where is he going?  _ He pondered, staring off after Henry.

Glancing around, Carl found that nobody was looking at him. Scrap that, nobody was even paying him any attention whatsoever. They were all too preoccupied with all that was happening outside their walls. Either muttering quietly to one another, finding places to hide in case things went wrong, or finding a spot in the community that was high enough to look over the walls. Trying to get a glimpse of what was going on, by the looks of it. But not a single one of them was paying attention to what Carl was doing. Not even his father, who had returned to his spot on the lookout, a dazed look on his face as he stared outward, no doubt watching whatever the hell Daryl was doing to make sure he didn't get himself killed. 

After another quick glance around, Carl began to move. Darting away and out of sight in the direction he had seen Henry go. It only took him a couple of moments to figure it out, and upon seeing the cellar door wide open, his suspicions were only confirmed. Henry and Lydia's voices were echoing out from the cellar, and Carl stopped right in front of the trapdoors, peering down the staircase into the darkness. He stood there for a few seconds, and after a moment or two, Henry and Lydia came into view.

The two of them stopped in their tracks upon seeing him standing there. Henry stiffened slightly, eyes going wide with shock. Carl knew he would have been amused by the look now on Henry's face if the current situation hadn't been so dire. Lydia was the first to recover from her surprise (not that he expected anything else), bounding up the stairs and engulfing him in a tight hug, burrowing her face into his neck. He returned it as best he could, giving her a grim smile as she pulled away.

"My mom is she-" Lydia broke off, unable to find the words. "She's really here?" She whispered after a few seconds, her voice coated with fear and disbelief. 

"Yes, she is," Carl forced out, his eyes strayed over to Henry, who had run up the stairs after Lydia and was now at her side. The blond looked anxious: twitching and glancing around as if he expected a walker or something to pop out at any moment. "Are you... are you hiding her? Is that why..." 

"I'm not letting her go back there," Henry said, crossing his arms, his whole body rippling with tension, "you shouldn't have to, either. I know a place you can hide until things blow over. You both can come with me and-"

"Daryl's one hell of a good tracker," Carl interrupted, "do you really think you would be able to hide your tracks well enough to lose his trail if he comes after us?" Henry's face shifted to something uncertain, and Carl felt something inside him soften. "Listen, Henry, I don't want to go back, neither does Lydia, but they took two of your people hostage-" Henry's head snapped up at this, his eyes widening with shock "-if we don't go back to Alpha, they're going to die. Do you really think it's worth it?"

"But... you know what she does to her." Henry insisted. "Do you really want her to go back to them? Do  **you** really want to put her through that again?"

"What I want doesn't matter," Carl argued, hating just how accurate the statement was, "I wish I could do something, I really do, but I can't. My hands are tied, Henry. Either both me and Lydia go back, or your friends die. It's that simple."

"What if they just get one of you?" Henry asked, an idea clearly forming judging by the look in his eyes. "We... we can tell them a lie about Lydia. That she died or something. Can't we?"

Carl frowned at this, taking in the hopeful expression on Henry's face. He honestly should probably feel more offended at the fact that Henry wanted to use Carl as bait to keep Lydia here but couldn't really muster up any fucks to give at the moment. That and he would definitely do something like that if it meant keeping Lydia safe. Carl then glanced toward Lydia, who looked both hesitant and doubtful. "My mom is smart. She won't believe a lie like that." Lydia said softly. 

A loud shout from nearby quickly caught their attention. Carl turned, his heart jumping at the noise. They didn't have the time to argue about this. It was only a matter of time before someone came looking for him and Lydia. Henry seemed to sense this too, turning to Carl with a look of determination in his eyes. "You either come with us, or you don't. But I'm not letting Lydia go back to her."

"You don't get to decide," Lydia said suddenly, drawing both Henry and Carl's attention away from one another. "We're gonna go back -- Delta and I. We have to. You heard him," she motioned toward Carl, "my mom has two of your people. She'll kill them if she doesn't get us back."

"What?" Henry stared at her, shocked. "No, no, we can -- we can-"

"I want to -- go back, I mean," Lydia interjected, ignoring the look of doubt on Carl's face, "she's my mother. They're our people." She shrugged, smiling sadly, "I miss them. And... and I'm gonna miss you, too. And I'm gonna be okay. I'm pretty sure Delta won't allow otherwise."

_ Damn right, I won't,  _ Carl thought, crossing his arms and pinning Henry with a hard stare. He knew that Lydia didn't really want to go back to her mother -- he had known her long enough to tell when she was lying -- but what confused him was why she was even lying about it. Did she want to comfort Henry? An unexpected flare of annoyance sparked up at that, and he pushed it down as soon as it came. 

Either way, it didn't seem as though Henry was very comforted by Lydia's words. The blonde opened his mouth again to protest when, suddenly, another shout sounded -- nearer this time -- and the three of them turned, Carl stiffening when he spotted two of Hilltop's women making their way over. The shorter of the two jogged up to them, eyes scouring over the three of them as she neared. A brief look of surprise passed over her face upon seeing Lydia, but she masked it pretty quickly.

"What's going on here?" She questioned, pulling to a stop. Carl took a small step forward, placing himself in front of Lydia and crossing his arms. The taller of the two women stopped behind the first, a bow slung over her shoulders. She was eyeing them as well: most likely taking in Henry's sheepishness, the fact Lydia was out of her cell, and Carl standing in front of both of them, also out of his cell. He watched as her hand gradually went to her belt, where a large hunting knife was placed. 

"Ask Henry," Carl said curtly, eye darting to the weapons they were wielding. Damn, he was really wishing he had his own knife right now. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to do much with it, but it would sure as hell make him feel a whole lot better.

"I don't think we need to," the first woman said, "I'm assuming you all know what's going on then?"

"My mom's here for us, Henry told me," Lydia confirmed, eyes downcast with her shoulders slumped. "She has two of your people, right?"

"They do." The second woman affirmed. "Gonna kill them if we don't give you two up." 

"And there's nothing you can do?" Henry tried, his eyes wide and pleading. At the looks on the two women's faces, he shook his head, disbelieving. "There has to be something! Anything?"

"Trust me, kid, there ain't."

The group turned almost simultaneously at hearing the new voice, and Carl was not surprised at all upon catching sight of Daryl making his way over. What did surprise him, however, was the sight of the German Shepherd now trotting at the archer's heels, tongue lolling out of its mouth. Carl stared at the canine with thinly veiled surprise, unable to recall the last time he's even laid eyes on an ordinary looking dog and not one of the rapid ones living in the wild.

When he got the feeling of eyes on him, Carl looked up, freezing upon meeting the familiar blue eyes of his father, who was standing on Daryl's other side. There was something odd about the way his father was staring at him, and for a brief moment, he feared that Daryl had told him about his identity, but then Rick tore his eyes away, shaking his head and muttering something to himself. Carl relaxed a small bit, knowing that if his father had known it was him, then things would be going very differently now.

"Only way to get Alden and Luke is to hand those two over." Daryl was continuing on, anger and regret tainting his voice, his eyes briefly darting over to Rick before landing on Carl. "I'm sorry, kid. Wish things could be different."

"I do, too," Carl responded, ignoring the confused look Lydia was giving him, "can't do shit to change it, though."

"Yeah," Daryl gave him a sad smile, his gaze moving over to Lydia, who was standing behind him. "You two ready for this, then?

Carl's grim smile was the man's only response.

* * *

Carl had almost forgotten how intimidating Alpha was.

And he said almost because Alpha was a fucking terrifying human being (if you could even call her that anymore), and Carl didn't think he could ever forget just how frightened she made him feel at times, no matter how much he wished he could. Not even Beta had intimidated him as much as Alpha often did, and that was saying something because Carl had been pretty damn intimidated by Beta when he first met the man seven or six years ago. 

The thing was, Alpha wasn't very tall, nor did she seem all that strong at first glance. But there were more ways to be terrifying than just size and strength. It was in her stature, the way she carried herself, the aura of power and confidence that always seemed to surround her. Carl still remembered seeing her for the first time at fifteen (or sixteen. Carl couldn't quite recall how old he had been when he first met her). She had scared the everloving shit out of him, more so than the Governor or anyone else he'd met in his lifetime could ever dream of doing.

Carl took in a deep breath, closing his remaining eye as he mentally prepared himself for what was about to come. The gate creaked open once more, and Carl felt Daryl's grip on his arm tighten as he began leading him down the path. Back to Alpha.

Carl opened his eye as they took the first step forward, looking up. Alpha's eyes snapped onto him instantly, and he forced himself to meet the woman's gaze, keeping his face neutral. She and two other members of the pack stepped through the outer gate, taking two unfamiliar men -- the Hilltop's missing people, Carl realized -- along with them. His leader tilted her head, face blank as she looked Carl up and down -- assessing him. Her eyes landed on the bruise still perfectly visible on his face, and she arched a brow. Carl only raised his head higher in response, refusing to let her see him cower.

"I'm going to tell him," Daryl muttered into his ear, and Carl tilted his head to the side to look at him, keeping his face carefully blank -- aware of the pack now watching them as they approached. "Not now -- but a few hours after you both leave. Don' want 'im goin' after you and gettin' himself killed." 

Carl tried -- he really did -- to ignore the whirlwind of emotions that started at that. He couldn't let them show on his face -- if he did, the pack would see it, and that was the last thing he wanted. But Carl didn't have the time to argue with Daryl, to try and convince him to do otherwise, so Carl said nothing, clenching his jaw as they drew even nearer to Alpha. He could only hope that his father didn't do anything stupid when hearing that Carl was alive -- he would rather keep his non-orphan status, thank you very much.

They had just about reached her when, suddenly, a baby cry split the air: something that quickly caught everyone in the vicinity's attention, even Alpha's -- who turned her head, stopping as she caught sight of the source of the noise. Daryl stopped as well, his face twitching with thinly disguised horror when the archer saw what it was too.

Carl had to stand on his tip-toes to get a good look. The mystery baby cried out once more, and his eyes immediately darted toward the sound. He spotted one of the women of the pack -- what was her name again? Franky or something? Frances? Hell if he knew. Whatever her name was, she was bouncing a baby in her arms, a makeshift sling wrapped around her shoulders, swaying and rocking as she tried desperately to calm her crying baby. Then, his eyes drifted a little further, and he saw the walkers.

_ Well, fuck. _

Carl knew what would happen if that baby didn't quiet  _ right fucking now.  _ He had seen it happen before, even if it wasn't often. Despite this, it never got any easier to watch, knowing that he didn't do a single thing to help a crying child surrounded by walkers while standing right  _ there.  _ Carl could only pray that, for both his and the mother of the baby's sake, that she would be able to calm her child. That he wouldn't have to listen as yet another baby's life was cut much too short at the hands of the dead.

But it seemed that the odds were, once again, not in his favor. The baby's crying got even louder, and a pit of sadness and helplessness started forming in the pit of his stomach when the walkers gradually began taking notice. They snarled and growled, shuffling toward the mother and child -- the mother getting more and more frantic as the seconds go by and the walkers get even closer. She glanced up at them, and Carl didn't even have to be close to the woman to see the fear and desperation that her body language was showing. She looked down at her baby and then the walkers again before finally looking toward Alpha.

Alpha didn't seem all that phased by this new and unexpected turn of events. Instead, she stared the woman in the eye, her gaze quickly flitting from the walkers approaching before going back to the mother. Then, Alpha shrugged, motioning with her head for the other woman to put the baby down. Something in the mother shifted, and her shoulders slumped, understanding and defeat dawning upon her.

From beside him, Daryl stilled, his fingers tightening around Carl's arm hard enough to bruise. Then, keeping his voice low as to not draw any unwanted attention, asked: "What -- what are they doin?" 

Carl just shook his head, refusing to respond. Maybe after this, Daryl would realize just how terrible the Whisperers really were. How Carl was no better than any of them -- and decide not to tell his father about his real identity after all. It was a foolish hope. Daryl hardly ever got dissuaded from something he had set his mind on. Why should this be any different?

The mother reached an arm over her shoulder, lifting the sling up over her head. Then -- with her body visibly shaking -- placing the infant onto the ground. She straightened up seconds later, shoulders slumping once more as she dragged herself away from her crying baby -- who had just been doomed to a horrible fate. One of the men who Alpha had taken hostage let out a muffled shout, realizing what was about to happen.

The other one leaned forward, managing to say through his gag, "it's a baby!" 

Alpha turned her attention to her prisoners. "To live with the dead means to live in silence," she said in a hushed whisper, "if the mother can't quiet the child..." she twisted around, eyes locking onto Carl's, "-then, the dead will."

"So, yer just gonna let the kid die?" Daryl asked her, voice brimming with undisguised rage. "It's a fucking baby -- babies don't know any better!"

Alpha gave Daryl a long stare, tilting her head as an amused smile spread across her face. "Natural selection," she said in a voice similar to a hiss. 

A loud banging started from somewhere behind them. Carl turned, catching sight of various Hilltoppers smacking their hands against the side of the walls, shouting and making the most noise they could. They were trying to draw the walker's attention away from the baby.

Carl looked away, already knowing their efforts were futile. The walkers had already seen the baby, and with the sight of fresh meat already so close, no amount of loud noises or shouting could possibly change that. After living with walkers for so long, that was just a fact he had accepted.

So, heart pounding, Carl forced himself to remain calm, looking away from the baby and already preparing for its cries to be cut short. Then, a miracle happened.

A figure darted out from the cornfield. It was a woman. She aimed something at the nearest walker, taking it down with relative ease and rushing forward, kicking back another walker before scooping up the wailing infant in her arms. She glanced around, and Carl spotted two other Whisperers nearest to her unsheathing their knives. The woman hesitated, and then after a second, ran right back into the fields.

The baby was safe.

Relief washed over him like a tidal wave, and the feeling was only amplified as Alpha gave a small shake of her head -- she wouldn't be sending anyone after the baby or the woman who had saved it. Carl wouldn't have to see another baby die. Or, at least, not now. But that was better than nothing. The baby was safer, or as safe as it could be in a field of corn still wailing like a banshee and attracting walkers, but safe nonetheless. That was all Carl really cared about at the moment.

"I would like my fourth in command back, now." Alpha's voice snapped him out of his thoughts, his relief melting into apprehension as he watched her take a step forward. "And then, I want my daughter." 

Carl watched Daryl from the corner of his eye. The archer's jaw clenched but otherwise nodded stiffly. Daryl let go of Carl, and the moment that he took a step forward, one of the two hostages was quickly cut loose. The freed one passed by with uncertainty before rushing forward, and Carl tried to hold back his jealousy as he listened to the happy reunion happening behind him.

Alpha watched him with a calculating eye as he approached. Carl stopped in front of her, lowering his head in a show of submission. Waiting for his leader to do something. Seconds felt like hours, and after a tense few moments, Alpha reeled back, striking Carl right across the face -- where his bruise was.

The pain stung his face, but Carl forced himself not to react, clenching his jaw and lifting his head back up. Alpha wasn't done apparently because then, she grabbed him by the hair, her grip pulling at his scalp, and yanked his head forward. She then leaned in, breath tickling his ear as she whispered: "Don't you  _ ever  _ do something like this again, Delta. You hear me? I won't come back for you again if you do." 

"Yes, Alpha," he whispered hoarsely, giving a small nod. "Thank you for coming for us."

Alpha pulled back, patting his cheek roughly -- once again where the bruise was -- and staring at him with an approving look in her eye. Then, her gaze moved behind Carl, back over to Daryl, and when Carl looked over as well, he was taken aback at the look of pure unadulterated rage on the archer's face. Daryl looked about five seconds away from running over and murdering Alpha, or at least, attempting to.

Carl really hoped he wouldn't. He very much preferred Daryl alive.

Alpha put a hand on Carl's arm, motioning for him to stand behind her. He did as asked, nodding gratefully when one of his fellow pack members stepped forward, handing him a single knife. Carl took it, immediately tucking the weapon into the sheath on his belt, pleased to finally have something to defend himself with. He would have to ask Beta when they got back to camp if he had any of his other weapons. Carl preferred having more than one weapon on him, though one was better than none.

"Now for my daughter," Alpha ordered, eyes not moving from Daryl. The archer gritted his teeth but nodded. He strode back into Hilltop, the gates closing behind him as he went to fetch Lydia. The gates to the community opened up a couple seconds later as Daryl walked out again, Lydia now at his side. The other prisoner had his bindings cut, and he darted forward, being engulfed into a tight hug by the woman who had been standing by Carl earlier -- they were a couple then.

Every minute that passed by grated on Carl's already frayed nerves. He met Lydia's eyes from where she stood, nodding quietly to the teen when she gave a small glance in his direction. She averted her gaze as she approached her mother, saying something to her in a hushed tone. 

A few seconds passed by, and Carl only just held back a wince as a harsh slap echoed once more around them. Lydia clutched her face, her hair falling in front of her eyes as a red mark blossomed on her cheek. Carl shook his head, squashing down the flash of anger that ran through him.

Maybe eight years ago, he would have said something: would've yelled at Alpha to leave her alone or something like that, but not now -- not anymore. He knew all too well what would happen to him if he did something like that. A quick death if he was lucky, but if not...

Looking toward Daryl again, he could tell by the guarded expression on his face that it was taking the man every ounce of willpower not to attack Alpha right then and there for hitting her daughter. Hell, he looked like he was about to yank Lydia away too, and a part of Carl hoped that he would. At least then, Lydia would be safer. Safer than she could ever be with the Whisperers. But Carl also knows just what would happen if Daryl did something like that. Alpha wouldn't let something like that slide.

Alpha turned, a hand on Lydia's back as she began leading her away. Carl turned as well, swallowing down the lump in his throat as he moved, his feet growing heavier and heavier with each and every step.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took a little longer, I was on a road trip for most of the time.

Daryl sat all alone on the front steps of Barrington House, quietly watching over the people of Hilltop as everyone began to retreat back into their homes as night began to fall. A few feet away, Earl and Tammy-Rose were carrying the newest addition of the Hilltop colony -- the baby that one of the new arrivals _(Connie,_ Daryl reminded himself, _her name is Connie)_ had saved mere hours before.

The elderly couple had taken charge of the new baby surprisingly quickly, taking the wailing infant out of Connie's arms a few seconds after she, Rick, and a few others were back within the safety of the community's walls. Daryl knew he should have been relieved by the fact that the baby was safe and with a couple who obviously cared about him. But all he could feel as he stared at Rick -- who was standing at the gates with Michonne, the two of them getting their horses ready and preparing to make the long ride back to Alexandria with Judith and RJ -- was ashamed.

A couple short hours since they'd been forced to hand Lydia and Carl back over to those... those _people_ , and despite what he had said to Carl about telling his dad about who he was, he still hadn't uttered a single word to Rick about the whereabouts of his son.

Guilt coursed through him -- gnawing at him inside and out. It was a feeling he was quite familiar with but could never quite get over no matter how many times he's experienced it. And how could he possibly stop feeling guilty after fucking up so many times in the past ten or so years? After causing so much pain, heartache, and death -- how could he not feel guilty. Especially now, with one of his biggest fuck ups yet.

He was so fucking _stupid_. Why didn't he do more? He should have done more -- so much more! After so many years of guilt -- of watching his brother break down and scream and cry and grieve for a son that Daryl himself had lost while being unable to do a single goddamn thing about it -- had finally figured out that Carl was alive and had been all these years. He had found the boy that his brother had been grieving for even after so long, only to let the kid slip away from him once more, just like he had nearly ten years ago back at the prison. 

But this time, instead of leaving Carl all alone to fend for himself, he left him in the hands of a woman who obviously hurt him and Lydia -- without even telling Rick despite knowing his brother should have been the very first to know.

Daryl thought back to a time long before the world went to shit -- when he was still a kid himself. He vaguely remembered wishing for someone -- literally anyone -- to get him far away from his own father. To have someone who cared enough about him to get him and Merle out of their father's abusive hands. That had been when Daryl was around five or six years old -- before he realized that the only person who actually gave a damn about him at the time was Merle. Most of the adults who saw him just scowled or turned their heads or gave him pitying looks before going on their way, not doing a single goddamn thing to help.

And now, here he was, doing the exact same thing that those adults did to him. Putting two children (okay, a teenager and a young adult, but Carl will always be kind of a child to him while Lydia was way too fucking mature for her age) back into abusive hands. What kind of person did that make him? Certainly not a good one, that was for sure. 

Daryl was so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn't hear Rick coming up next to him. He looked up at the sound of footsteps, blinking slowly at the sight of his brother standing a few feet in front of him, hands stuffed in his pockets as he stared down at Daryl with a curious expression. Dog trotted up to Daryl from behind Rick, giving a small bark before resting his head on Daryl's lap. Upon realizing that Daryl had seen him, Rick gave him a kind smile, taking a seat next to him and clasping his hands in his lap.

"Damn dog has always liked you more than me," Daryl grunted after a moment, scratching Dog behind the ears. Rick snorted at this, his amusement visible on his face.

"Probably because Michonne, Judith, and RJ keep sneaking him food half the time. Therefore, he thinks I should too," Rick said as he reached over, giving Dog a small pat on the head. Dog responded by giving Rick a lick on the hand, causing the man to smile wider.

"How are they?" Daryl inquired, a grin of his own spreading across his face at the mention of the two kids. "Judith and RJ, I mean. Haven't talked to them in a while."

That sure made him feel like a bit of a dick when he put it like that. They lived in the same goddamn community, for christ's sake, so shouldn't Daryl be able to know the answer to that question without even having to ask? Inevitably, the mention of the two younger Grimes' kids made his thoughts drift back to the older one. The one that Rick still didn't know was alive, and his smile fell immediately.

"They're fine," as expected, Rick's whole face lit up at the mention of his two younger kids. Daryl could only imagine that he did the same when talking about Beth and Anne. "RJ ended up learning what ninjas are from Aaron -- now he's convinced he was meant to be one."

Daryl snorted out a laugh at the mental image that produced, "is he any good at it?"

"Seeing as he managed to scare the shit out of Michonne last week, yes." Rick hardly bothered fighting back the amused smile at the memory. "Hey, did I ever tell you that Judith was the one who brought Magna, Yumiko, Kelly, Connie, and Luke to Alexandria? I don't think you were there for that."

"Really?" Daryl raised a brow, surprised at this new information. "I'm assuming you and Michonne weren't too pleased -- with the rules about letting strangers in and all." 

"We weren't, but things worked out in the end," Rick responded, running a hand through his hair. Then, his hands went to his beard, and he grimaced. "God, I need to shave this thing." 

Daryl couldn't help but laugh. "And you've just realized this? We've been telling you to shave that for ages, wolfman." 

Rick swatted his shoulder, laughing loudly. "Oh shut up, Michonne likes it." At Daryl's groan, Rick defended: "You're acting like you wouldn't do the same if Beth told you she liked your hair long or somethin."

"True," Daryl muttered, fighting back the grin on his face, then he glanced toward Michonne, who was talking to one of the women of Hilltop -- Hilda or something. Hell if he knew. "You headed back to Alexandria then?"

"Yeah, we are. Can't risk those back at home not knowing what's going on." Something in Rick's expression changed. "How are you holding up, by the way? I know you liked those two-" Rick's voice started wobbling slightly, and Daryl had a pretty good idea as to why "-and I'm sorry things turned out the way they did."

_If only you knew,_ Daryl's mind murmured as he looked at Rick through the corner of his eye, his guilt only worsening at the thought. Daryl stared at him for a long few moments before bowing his head, his hair falling in front of his face as he focused all of his attention onto Dog, whose head was still resting on his lap. 

He really shouldn't have been as surprised as he was that Rick would easily be able to tell how he was feeling. While Daryl prided himself on being a difficult person to read, Rick had known him for at least ten or so years, so it was expected that Rick would see right through any walls that he tried putting up. Both he and Beth could do that without any trouble. 

Daryl let out a small sigh, forcing himself to look up at Rick. "We didn' get much choice, needed t'get Alden and Luke back. Did what we had'ta." The words felt both hollow and bitter on his tongue, and his guilt only doubled in size. _This ain't right._

"Still," Rick insisted, reaching out a hand to rest on Daryl's shoulder. "I didn't really want to give them back, either. That woman... I feel like today is not going to be the last we see of her."

"You and me both," Daryl mumbled in response, eyes trailing back over to the gates. Then, he glanced over to Rick. Daryl knew what he should do -- he should tell Rick right now before he and Michonne left for Alexandria. That would be the right thing to do. But even as Daryl opened his mouth to do so, something inside was stopping him.

_Goddammit, stop being such a coward, Daryl and just fucking do it! Tell him the truth! Tell him about Carl!_

But he didn't -- he couldn't! Instead, he stayed silent, sitting next to Rick on the steps of Barrington House as the seconds slowly ticked by. None of them said anything for a long time. There was nothing much there for either of them to say. Or at least, on Rick's side, there wasn't much to say. Daryl had so much inside that he wanted to let out, and yet he wasn't even able to muster the courage to utter a single goddamn word. 

After a few minutes, rapid footsteps from behind them quickly caught both of their attention. The both of them looked up, and Dog clambered off of Daryl's lap, looking toward the door with curious eyes. Daryl slowly stood up, as did Rick, the two of them turning around and tensing up as Maggie came sprinting out of the house, her face filled with thinly disguised terror as she approached. 

A horrible feeling started forming in Daryl's gut.

"Maggie?" Rick tried, taking a small step toward the frantic woman, a hand outstretched. "Maggie, what's wro-"

"Henry and Hershel-" Maggie managed to gasp out, not waiting for Rick to finish his sentence, her green eyes wide and frantic as they darted around, "Henry and Hershel... they're.... they're missing!"

_Shit._

* * *

Carl doesn't really remember the first few days after escaping the prison.

Okay, that was a bit of a lie. Carl vaguely remembered escaping -- he remembered Daryl saving him, remembered running into the woods right after. He had passed out at one point -- he knew that. But Carl could hardly remember the specifics of it all. How long he had traveled alone for, how many times he had gone to sleep hungry or crying -- days had just ended up blending together until there was only today, yesterday, and tomorrow. There was no next week, no next month, or next year -- he didn't keep track of time. There was no use in doing things like that. Especially after he became a part of Alpha's ranks. 

All that he knew was that he had to keep surviving. That he had to keep moving.

Had to keep walking.

And walking...

And walking...

And walking...

And walking...

Kind of like what he was doing now. Though this time, he wasn't walking alone.

Carl and Lydia paced side by side through the seemingly endless ocean of trees surrounding them. Alpha walked ahead of them with the rest of the pack -- or at least, the ones she brought with her to Hilltop -- trailing steadily behind them. Everyone was completely silent as they moved, though that was just how it was most of the time. The only sounds that could be heard were the oddly rhythmic crunching of leaves underfoot, the groans of the dead around them, and the occasional animal call from somewhere in the distance. Everything else was quiet. Still. Silent. 

They weren't heading in the direction that their previous camp had been in -- the one by the bridge -- so Carl could only assume that they had, in fact, moved to a different area as he had told Daryl they probably would. Briefly, he wondered what had become of his possessions back in the bag he had left at the old encampment. If worst comes to worst, then his things will probably be long gone at this point -- either left behind or stolen by someone in the pack. If not...

Well, if he were being honest, Carl couldn't care less about what happened to his old things. The only thing that he actually cared about that he had left back at the old camp was his father's hat. And, while losing something that meant so much to him would definitely hurt quite a bit, the only reason that he had kept it with him over the past few years was because Carl had believed it was the last thing he had left of his father, and therefore did not want to get rid of it.

This obviously wasn't the case now, seeing as the man was both alive and well -- albeit oblivious of Carl's own survival, but still, Carl would be lying if he said he didn't care about what happened to the hat. Because he did, it just... wasn't as important as it was before. That didn't mean he would be wanting to get rid of it anytime soon, though.

Carl kept his eye on the ground, his long, dark hair hanging loosely in front of his face as he shuffled along. He doesn't really know how long they walk for, but by the time the pack had stopped to rest somewhere in the forest, Carl felt as if his whole world had been turned upside down, which, in a way, he supposed it had been. Wouldn't be the first time that something like this had happened -- it was just yet another even to add to the gradually growing list of things that went wrong in his life over the past ten or so years. It was nothing new. 

As Lydia was led away by her mother -- who no doubt was going to be grilling her about the events of the last few days -- he pressed his back to a nearby tree, making sure he was out of view of most of the pack, slowly sliding down until he was sitting in the dirt with his knees pulled to his chest. He stared blankly up at the canopy above as his thoughts whirled around at a rapid pace. It was almost as if a tornado had taken residence in his mind. He couldn't think clearly; his mind was confused and disoriented. Muddled. He just-

He was...

He just...

Carl shook his head rapidly, reaching up and running a hand through his matted hair and for once not bothering to pay attention to the painful way the tangles pulled at his scalp. He then began worrying his bottom lip in between his teeth, squeezing his eye shut as he tried desperately to regain his bearings. 

Needless to say, it didn't really work.

He was just so confused.

None of this made any sense whatsoever!

Why would Alpha come back for him? Her coming for Lydia was something he could definitely get behind -- she was Alpha's daughter, of course the woman would want her back -- but what he couldn't understand was why the hell she would come back for him too? Carl already knew he was no one special. He was Alpha's fourth in command, sure, (third possibly if Gamma was, in fact, dead or a deserter), but Alpha usually never gave a damn about how important the one captured may or may not be. All of them were replaceable to her, including him; Carl had accepted that fact years ago. So what made him any different from the rest?

Maybe it was because he was there? Perhaps she decided that since Delta was in the same place as Lydia was that she should just get the both of them instead of one. That would definitely make some sense, and that was probably the reason why. There was no other reasonable explanation that he could come up with that could somehow explain why she had come back for him as well. 

_Why can't things ever be easy?_ He pondered briefly, staring down at his hand and running his fingers through the loose dirt. _Why does everything have to go to total fucking shit all the time? First the world, then the farm, then the prison, and now fucking this._ He had no easy answer for this -- life was never easy, Carl knew that, but despite this, it doesn't stop him from wondering, from wishing. 

Carl was interrupted from his churning thoughts when he heard a twig snap somewhere in front of him, and he lifted his head, not at all surprised to see Lydia approaching, her face sullen as the teen steadily made her way over. When she reached the tree that he was sitting under, Lydia sunk to the ground beside him, scooting into his side and wrapping her arms around her knees as she leaned into Carl. After a moment, he curled an arm around her shoulder, pulling Lydia closer until her head was resting against his chest.

None of them said anything for a few minutes. The two of them just let the silence stretch on and on, both perfectly content with not saying a single word. Sometimes, talking was not wanted or needed. Carl often preferred the silence to talking -- it was always so much simpler. But despite this, he knew that one of them would have to say something eventually. There was no way they could just ignore what had happened mere hours before, no matter how much Carl wished he could.

Another few seconds passed by without any of them saying a single word, and Carl finally decided that he would have to be the first one to speak.

"How was your chat with your mother?" Carl questioned, playing with a strand of Lydia's hair. After a second or two, Lydia sighed before promptly twisting her body around and burrowing her face into Carl's chest, screwing her eyes tightly shut. Carl hummed at this response, not the least bit surprised: "That bad, huh? Do you think she'll be talking to me later?"

"Probably," Lydia affirmed, voice muffled slightly by the fabric of his shirt but still relatively easy to discern despite it. "She wants information about them -- that's pretty much why she wanted us back in the first place. Or at least, I think it is." She shrugged, pulling away somewhat to look up at him. 

"Did you tell her the truth?" Carl inquired softly, and, after a brief pause, Lydia shook her head. Carl would be lying if he said he wasn't at least a little surprised at this. They had spent three days as Hilltop's prisoners, and while Carl had known some of the people there before, Lydia didn't. She had only known them for a few days. If anything, Carl would have expected her to try and readapt to life with the Whisperers.

But at the same time, Carl found that he really wasn't all that surprised by her answer. Not only did Alpha abuse Lydia, but the revelation that her mother had been lying to her since she was six-years-old had clearly affected her more than Carl had first been led to believe -- and honestly, he really couldn't blame her for that either. If he had found out that his parents had been lying to him for most of his life. 

Well, he wouldn't have taken it nearly as well as Lydia currently was, that was for sure. 

"I told her some stuff..." Lydia started slowly, pulling Carl out of his thoughts. She paused, doing a quick glance around the area to make sure no one was listening in. When she had confirmed nobody around was currently in earshot of their conversation, Lydia looked back to Carl, her brown eyes wide as she began to speak again. "I... I didn't tell her that Henry mentioned a second community -- I didn't tell her about him at all. I told her that I saw no signs of another community, that they were weak, that they had little weapons and..."

Lydia trailed off, and there was another long silence that stretched on for what felt like an eternity, but Carl knew it had only been a few seconds. The only things that filled the silence was the sound of nature around them: the air blowing softly -- picking up stray leaves and twigs from off the ground, the rustling of leaves, some birds chirping in the distance... Hell, Carl could also hear the sound of chatter coming from the pack members that had come with Alpha to Hilltop, though it was quite faint, and Carl was unable to tell what was being said.

Lydia's tongue darted out from her mouth, wetting her lips. Then, she looked down at her feet, body slumping against him. "They're not weak, Delta." She whispered, her voice cracking with unshed tears. "I thought they were at first... but they're not. I know that now." She shook her head, silent for a few moments as she tried to find the words she wanted to say. Finally, after a few seconds, she raised her head and met his gaze, a sad look in her eyes as she spoke once more. "Delta... I don't know what to do."

_Trust me, I know._ Carl thought sadly, his mind wandering to his father, Daryl, Glenn, Maggie, Michonne, and whoever else in his old group who might still be alive. He had thought they were dead for nearly an entire decade, so to find out they were alive -- and his enemies now, at that -- after all that's happened was really, _really_ fucking with his mind, making things a whole lot harder than they had been before. _I know how you feel, and I don't know what to do either._

"I know, Lydia," Carl said aloud, his heart breaking at the devastation that covered her face. Carl wished he could do something, anything, to help her out, but he couldn't -- he was totally helpless, and he hated that so, so much. He was her friend, for christ's sake, shouldn't he know what to do to help her?! But despite Carl continuing to tell himself this, his mind remained void of any ideas. "I know. I don't know what to do either." 

Lydia's lower lip wobbled slightly at his words, and she swore upon noticing it, wiping a hand across her face and laughing sadly. She was practically sitting in Carl's lap now, her legs entangled in his own while one of her hands moved to his chest, her fingers digging into the fabric of his faded shirt slightly as she tried to regain her bearings. Something she was clearly struggling to do. Carl wasn't too bothered by how close she was to him; personal space was never really a thing between the two of them. While Carl hated it when most people touched him, Lydia was the main exception. 

He began rubbing circles into the small of her back, waiting patiently and quietly for her to regain control of her falling composure. It didn't end up taking very long at all, and she soon removed her hand from her face, staring up at him with wide brown eyes that were now showing no signs of tears as they had been before. A few strands of her long, dark hair had at some point fallen in soft waves in front of her face, and Carl resisted the urge to tuck it behind her ear. 

"You were scared," Lydia said suddenly after a couple of moments, and Carl arched a brow, curiosity blatant on his face as he stared at her, a little confused at the sudden change in subject. 

"What?" He questioned, cocking his head as he let his head fall back against the tree. "You need to be a little more specific, Lydia." Her face twisted into an expression of annoyance, and she reached out her other hand, flicking him on the forehead and ignoring his baffled expression as she sat back, a hand still placed on his chest. 

"Scared," Lydia repeated slowly, as if she were talking to a small child. "When we got captured on the bridge-" Carl stilled instantly at the mention of the bridge, his one eye narrowing as she continued on "-you... you looked... you looked scared, Delta."

"What are you-" He started, confused about where this was going, but Lydia shook her head, covering his mouth with her hand to stop him from speaking. 

"No, let me speak." She shifted slightly, nibbling on her lip as she began playing with a strand of his hair, her eyes focused on her hand as she spoke. "You were scared... and..." she shook her head, "I - I... at first I thought it was because you knew we might have died there, or something like that. But that didn't make any sense to me." She lifted her head, meeting his gaze head on. 

"You've been in worse situations and have never once been scared. You've nearly died a thousand times in the time that I've known you, probably more, and never seemed the slightest bit terrified. So why were you so scared there? Was..." she paused, seemingly struggling to find the right words, "did something happen? What was so different about the bridge?"

"Lydia, I..." Carl trailed off, unsure of what he should say. He honestly wasn't that surprised that Lydia had been able to notice those things. She'd always been pretty attentive. But her observant nature had now dug him into a bit of a hole. _At least it's her and not someone else._ God knows that this would be a hundred times harder if it had been Beta or Alpha asking these questions.

"It wasn't just at the bridge either..." Lydia went on, tilting her head, "when... when -- the night after Henry let us both out -- when I realized my mom was lying to me about my dad. Daryl asked to talk to you about something. You were... terrified... when he asked. It wasn't of Daryl. I could tell you weren't scared of him. So what was it? Why were you so scared, Delta?"

Carl swallowed down the lump in his throat, staring at Lydia with his one blue eye wide. "Lydia..." he trailed off, his mouth going dry as he struggled to find the right words. What could he even say to something like that? 

Should he even tell her? Lydia didn't deserve to be kept in the dark -- Carl knew that, and he didn't want to be the type of person who did things like that either. But what if Lydia got mad at him for keeping his relation to his father a secret from her? What if she told her mother? If she did tell Alpha, Carl knew the chances of him getting out of that situation alive, much less unscathed, were horribly slim. 

Hell, the mere thought of Alpha figuring out about his dad sent a shiver of fear down his spine. 

Realistically, Carl knew Lydia wasn't the type of person to do something horrible like that. She and Carl had been friends for almost a full decade, and hell, he probably knew her better than he knew himself. They confided in each other, protected one another whenever they could -- she told him things she would never dare say to anyone else -- not even her own mother. And Carl would share something to her about himself he wouldn't say to anyone else in turn, he told her about his nightmares, his family, his fears... He told her about things that the rest of the pack would consider signs of weakness, and she had never once judged him for it. 

But there would forever be that dark spot in the deepest darkest depths of his mind that would always be contradicting every good thought. Would be whispering every negative outcome to every single thing he did. He knew that Lydia would never purposely do something that could potentially harm him, but he couldn't help it... Lydia was right. He was scared. 

"Your right," Carl said finally, lowering his gaze, "I was scared. Both at the bridge and with Daryl. But not because I thought we might die, though I'd be lying if I said that wasn't a part of it. I do think we could have died at the bridge, but..." he shook his head, reaching up a hand to grab Lydia's. "I... that wasn't why I was scared. It's the same with Daryl. I was scared when he asked to talk, but not because I was afraid of him." 

"Then what were you scared of?" Lydia inquired, her eyes narrowing as she processed his words. "What did Daryl even talk to you about, Delta?" Her voice softened slightly during her last few words, but her eyes remained insistent and searching. Looking for every small sign that could give her some sort of hint. "Did... did he threaten you or something?" There was a hard edge to her voice as she said this, pressing her lips together in a hard line right after.

"What?! No!" Carl shook his head violently, eye widening in disbelief at the thought. Then, he did a quick glance around, aware of how loud he had just gotten. When he was satisfied that no one had heard his exclamation, he returned his gaze back to Lydia, his voice much quieter as he spoke again. "Lydia, I can assure you that Daryl did not threaten me. The opposite, really."

"Then what did he talk to you about?" Lydia questioned, her eyebrows knitting together. "Delta, please, what's wrong? You've been acting weird ever since the bridge. Like with Henry-" she paused, glancing around, "-with Henry, you usually would not have hesitated in killing him. But you did hesitate. You didn't kill him. Why?"

Carl lifted an eyebrow, "can't I leave someone alive because I'm feeling merciful?" 

"No, because you usually don't do that kind of thing, so tell me," she demanded, her eyes boring right into his, "and don't say it's because he's a kid like me. You don't care about age as long as they pose a threat to us. And I've seen you kill people younger than him without feeling a shred of remorse."

Carl let out a sigh, knowing she was right. He rubbed his forehead, looking away from Lydia and running his fingers through the loose dirt and leaves next to him. He stopped after a few moments as he tried to gather his thoughts. Then, his gaze returned to Lydia, who hadn't stopped staring at him with that look of determination and worry in her eyes. 

She wasn't going to be letting this go.

So with a deep breath, Carl nodded, finally making his decision. "I can't really answer why I didn't kill Henry back in the cellar because I honestly have no idea why I didn't do it myself." He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, "I really don't know, Lydia. I - I just - I just didn't want to kill him."

"That doesn't sound like you at all," she said, giving him an odd look, "just doing something without thinking even knowing why." 

_Should've seen me eight years ago then,_ he thought dryly. A small part of him wanted to say it out loud, but he squashed that bit of him down fairly quickly.

"I know," he said to her instead, "and if I figure it out, then you'll be the first to know. I promise." He gave her a lopsided grin, and a flush crept up onto Lydia's face.

"And what about Daryl?" She questioned. "What did he say to you?"

Carl opened his mouth to say something, to answer her question and finally tell her the truth that he had been hiding for long enough, but he didn't get the chance to.

Because, at that very moment, a tiny figure tumbled out from the bushes in front of them, a faint oof escaping them. Lydia leaped up to her feet, Carl not far behind. But then he stopped, eye nearly popping out of his skull as he took in the sight of the little boy who now lay splayed out in the dirt, a familiar baseball cap lying on the ground a couple feet away.

_"Hershel?!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh! So I just wanted to say something here
> 
> If you are a fan of this story or a fan of Carl Grimes in general, then I suggest you go check out [Ghost story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27236605/chapters/66534208)  
> by TheHoardingGoblin. It’s a wonderful story and I suggest you all check it out!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So originally this chapter was going to be close to 13,000 words. But I decided to split it in half because that would have been way too long.

_"Hershel?!"_

The little boy's head snapped up, green eyes that were so similar to his mother's widening at the sight of Carl and Lydia a little bit in front of him. Carl opened his mouth, just about to say something else when a few sets of groans made themselves heard from the forest behind the boy. Hershel let out a cry of fear at the sound, scrambling to his feet and darting forward just as the first walker stumbled out of the bushes he had come out of seconds before. 

Carl pulled out his knife immediately, striding forward and jamming the knife into the walker's skull before it got too close to Hershel. Lydia moved to his side seconds later, kicking back another walker that had appeared after the first and crushing its head underneath her boot. Then came three others, and the two of them got rid of those ones just as quickly. Carl stood over one of the walker bodies for a moment, wiping his now bloodied knife on his pants before finally turning to Hershel. 

The little boy must have gotten back to his feet at some point while Carl and Lydia had been dealing with the walkers, he was covered in dirt with his back pressed to the tree Carl and Lydia were just sitting at, his baseball cap back on his unruly head of hair. Hershel was shaking violently, and his lower lip was wobbling as he stared at the five dead walkers with thinly veiled surprise in his eyes. Slowly, Carl made his way over, bending down to the kid's level so he could look him in the eyes.

"Hershel?" He tried softly, and the kid tore his attention away from the now dead walkers, staring at Carl for a few long moments before letting out a quiet sob and barreling into him, tiny arms wrapping around his neck as Hershel cried into his shoulder. And Carl, having not expected the sudden hug attack, lost his balance, and he hit the forest floor with a surprised yelp. 

"Um..." Carl hesitantly patted the crying boy on the back, sharing a bewildered look with Lydia, who looked just as confused as he felt. Shit, she didn't even know who Hershel was. Then, he looked back to the little boy curled up in his arms, clearing his throat to grab his attention.

"Hershel, c'mon. Look at me, kid..." He coaxed softly, unsure if he was doing the right thing. Kids didn't like it when people yelled at them and liked it even less when they were scared. Or at least, that was how it was for him. He didn't know. Kids were confusing.

Either way, his words seem to work. Still sniffling, Hershel complied, pulling his face away from where it had been buried into the fabric of Carl's shirt and staring up at him with watery green eyes. The poor kid looked horribly shaken, and seeing as he had just been chased and nearly eaten by a bunch of walkers, that was understandable. Still, Carl needed an answer to a very, _very_ important question before he did or said anything else. 

"Were you bit?"

Hershel blinked, obviously confused by the question. "W-what?"

"Bit -- did any of the walkers bite you?" He prayed that wasn't the case. He still remembered the devastation losing Sophia had caused Carol, and he did not want that fate for Maggie and Glenn. Hershel was still so young, too. He didn't deserve that kind of end. Carl's heart hammered so loudly he was surprised the whole forest couldn't hear it as he stared down at Hershel, waiting for him to respond.

Finally, Hershel shook his head, and Carl let out a deep breath he hadn't even been aware of holding. "N-no... I wasn't..." the little boy stammered, face pale, "t-they tried, b-but I got away before they c-could..."

"Good-" Carl slowly detached the kid from him, climbing back to his knees and looking at Hershel at eye-level. "Now that all that stuff is out of the way, what the actual fuck are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be back at Hilltop with your parents right now?"

Hershel flinched back, immediately making Carl feel guilty. The poor kid just got chased by walkers, and here Carl was being a total dick to him. But at the same time, the kid had to know how much danger he had put himself in, or else he'd just get killed later on.

After a second, Hershel reached up a hand, scratching at the back of his neck nervously. "Y-yes?" He tried after a moment, looking sheepish.

"Then why the hell are you here? Do you realize how much danger you put yourself in? You could've died, Hershel!" Carl took in a deep breath, covering his own face with a hand. God, he sounded like a parent right now. That felt _super_ weird.

Hershel tore his gaze away from Carl, focusing his eyes onto his feet as he shifted around nervously. "I - I snuck out."

Carl blinked, his hand falling away from his face.

He blinked again.

And again.

Then, he closed his eye, taking in a long, deep breath before opening it again to stare at Hershel and promptly said: _"What."_ In a low voice. 

Hershel's eyes widened a bit, more so than before. "I wasn't going to at first!" He defended, crossing his arms and pouting. "But then Mom said you were leaving and..." he hesitated before plowing on. "-and then I saw Henry sneaking out too and I-"

Carl felt his mind draw to a halt.

Lydia chose that moment to take a step forward, an expression of fear on her face. "Wait, Henry? He snuck out too?"

Hershel stared up at her for a moment, looking between her and Carl. "Um... yes?" He said slowly, and Carl found himself seeing red.

What the FUCK was Henry thinking?!

Carl already knew that Henry wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed; the fact that he had let both Carl and Lydia out in the middle of the night made that pretty clear. But he hadn't believed that the blonde would actually be stupid enough to sneak out of Hilltop and try to, supposedly, follow the Whisperers (Carl really didn't know why else the teen would have snuck out.) And with a six (seven?) year old at that! Was Henry trying to get him and Hershel killed? Was he really that irresponsible? Either way, Carl now had an enormous problem on his hands. 

Henry clearly hadn't come across the pack yet, but it would only be a matter of time before he did. And when that happened...

Well, things wouldn't turn out very well for Henry. And although Henry may be a dumbass (or just naive), he didn't deserve a fate like the one Alpha would give him.

"Where is he now?" Carl asked, his tone much harsher than he intended. Hershel flinched back slightly, and Carl fought back a grimace, his voice softening as he spoke again. "Listen, I need to know where he is, Hershel. If he finds us... he won't get out of this place alive." _Neither will Hershel if Alpha ends up realizing he's here._

Carl tried not to think about that too hard. 

"I don't know! I ran into a group of monsters and... and... um, I lost track of him." Carl must have let some of his anger seep onto his face, for Hershel immediately backtracked. "But it's not Henry's fault! He didn't realize that I was following him! I made sure I was quiet."

Huh, that made him want to strangle Henry a little less.

Honestly, the fact that a little kid managed to follow Henry without him noticing at all was actually kind of amusing and, if the situation weren't so serious, he would have laughed about it. 

Instead, he reached out, resting a gloved hand onto Hershel's shoulder. "He shouldn't have even snuck out either, Hershel. It's dangerous out here." Had Hershel ever even been outside Hilltop's walls? The kid had to be at least six or seven, and he doubted that any child belonging to Glenn and Maggie could stand being kept inside for that long. But hey, how the hell could he know. 

Carl glanced up at Lydia, taking in the fearful expression on her face. When she caught his stare, she spoke in a soft voice: "Delta, if Henry-"

"I know, Lydia," Carl confirmed, lowering his gaze. "Trust me, I know."

"He's from Hilltop?" Lydia asked after a second or two, eyes drifting toward Hershel.

Carl nodded, "I met him the first night we were at Hilltop."

Lydia frowned, hugging her arms across her chest. "My mom isn't going to like this." She said after a second or two, and Carl opened his mouth to respond, only be cut off as somebody else spoke. 

"What exactly am I not going to like, Lydia?" Lydia spun around, eyes widening in surprise, and Carl found himself going rigid, the color draining from his face. His hand dropped away from where it had been resting on Hershel's shoulder, and, while taking in a deep breath, Carl climbed up to his feet, turning around to face the source of the voice.

"Alpha," Carl dipped his head as he addressed her, heart hammering in his chest. He snuck a glance behind Alpha. There was a small crowd forming behind the woman, all eyeing the scene in front of them curiously. Or, more specifically, looking at Hershel, who hadn't seemed to realize just how much danger he was now in and was staring at the crowd with equal amounts of curiosity.

Fuck, how the hell had he not heard the pack approaching. _And why didn't I hide Hershel?_ He asked himself, inwardly cursing his stupidity. Hiding Hershel should have been the first thing he should have done upon saving the little boy. Walkers weren't exactly the quietest of things, so he should have expected the pack to hear them and come investigate. 

Now Hershel might die because of his lack of foresight.

Alpha's eyes moved from Lydia to Carl before finally landing on Hershel, who met her gaze without an ounce of fear. Instead, he looked at her with a mix of curiosity and surprise, clearly not knowing just how dangerous she was. After a few seconds, Alpha turned to Carl, a hint of danger in her eyes as she addressed him.

"Who is this little one, Delta?" Alpha inquired in a low voice, taking a step forward. Carl briefly noted she had her mask on now, but despite this, he could tell she was not impressed with what she was seeing whatsoever. "And why is he here?"

"He came out of nowhere," Lydia answered for him, rushing to Carl's defense, "We don't know where-"

"Was I asking you, Lydia?" Alpha interrupted -- regarding her daughter through narrowed eyes. Lydia quickly seemed to realize her error, stepping back behind Carl and dipping her head in a show of respect, her jaw clenching. Alpha stared her down for a few more seconds before moving her gaze back to Carl. 

Carl took in a deep breath, raising his head to meet Alpha's gaze. He could do one of three things right now. Tell the truth, tell a lie, or tell half a lie. Either way, each held the risk of Hershel being killed. But if he chose the right words, then maybe he could get he and Hershel out of this alive. 

After a quick analysis of each choice, Carl chose the third option.

"He came out of the bushes while Lydia and I were talking," Carl began slowly, choosing his words carefully, "a group of guardians were chasing him." He waved a hand in the direction of the dead walkers to the side. "We got rid of them. I was going to get you, but..." he nodded toward the slowly growing crowd behind Alpha. "It seems you already found out."

He didn't dare look back at Hershel as he spoke, keeping all of his attention focused on Alpha. He could only pray that the little boy would be smart enough to understand just how dire this situation was and stay silent. If the kid said even a single word to contradict what Carl said, then Alpha would realize he was lying and-

Alpha studied the rotting corpses for a second. "You saved him." She stated firmly, turning back to Carl. "Why?"

"We don't have our skins with us, Alpha," Carl explained, fighting to keep his voice neutral. "The guardians would have attacked us too if we hadn't."

"I see." Alpha suddenly started striding forward, completely ignoring Carl in favor of kneeling in front of Hershel, who had gradually started inching back toward the bushes. The kid stumbled backward, startled at the woman's sudden movement, but Alpha grabbed Hershel by the chin before he could go anywhere, digging in her fingers hard enough to bruise as she held him in place, studying him. 

Carl watched on with bated breath, knowing better than to intervene. He glanced up at Lydia, meeting her gaze for a split second before looking back at Alpha and Hershel. The poor kid looked so confused but still didn't look the slightest bit scared. Carl wondered if Hershel was just a dense kid or simply was hiding it somehow. Carl was betting on the former. But then again, it's not every day you get questioned by a person wearing a walker mask of all things, so Carl supposed he couldn't really blame him. 

"Where are you from, boy?" Alpha questioned, eyes boring right into Hershel's. "I know you aren't on your own. Children your age don't survive out here alone."

"Um..." Hershel looked over at Carl, who promptly avoided his gaze. He felt like shit doing it, but he couldn't be seen helping Hershel if he wanted the kid to get out of this alive. And himself, at that. "I... uh..."

"Alpha!" Carl turned, as did Alpha and everyone else as the call sounded. It took him a moment to locate the source, but when he did, his eye widened in surprise as Beta came into view, looking exactly how he had the last time Carl had seen him. The man's body was bristling -- with rage or something else -- and was now dragging a VERY familiar blonde teenager along with him.

Oh...

Well, that solved the mystery about where the hell Henry had gone.

Carl snuck a glance over at Lydia to see her reaction. She was now staring at the scene in front of her with her arms crossed over her chest. Having schooled her face into a more neutral expression in the few seconds since Carl last looked at her. But to Carl, the concern Lydia was feeling for Henry was obvious. It was in the way she moved, how she kept fidgeting around and clenching and unclenching her hands. She was worried, and she had a perfectly good reason to be.

Beta stalked forward, and the crowd swiftly parted ways as the second in command made his way up to the front where Alpha was standing, throwing Henry onto the forest floor without a hint of gentleness. The teen fell with a grunt, fingers digging into the dirt. He started to climb back up his feet only to freeze as he caught sight of Hershel, who stared back at him with equal amounts of surprise. Carl watched as the confusion and fear crossed over Henry's face as he stared at Hershel, and then the realization.

"Been tracking him since the glades," Beta explained to Alpha as he stood over Henry, "he's been tracking us longer." Then, his eyes fell on Hershel. "I see he wasn't the only one."

Alpha looked between the two outsiders for a brief moment, as if realizing something important, before standing up. She then let go of Hershel and pushed him in Carl's direction, where the kid promptly fell in a small heap at Carl's feet with a quiet 'oof.' Alpha took a few silent strides forward, and Henry's gaze moved away from Hershel over to her, immediately tensing as she approached. _Good,_ Carl found himself thinking, _at least he has enough sense to be scared of her._

He only wished that Henry had that same sense before sneaking out of Hilltop.

Alpha studied Henry for a few long moments, turning her head to look at Beta. "Was there anyone with him?"

Beta was quiet for a moment. "It was just him."

"Thank you, Beta." Alpha kneeled down to look Henry in the eye, tilting her head as she regarded him. "Who are you?"

Henry stared up at her with wide eyes but otherwise didn't say a single word. That turned out to be the wrong decision in the end. Alpha made a faint motion with her hand, one that Carl wouldn't have caught if he hadn't been a part of the Whisperers, and, without hesitating, Beta grabbed Henry by the arm, twisting it behind his back in what was no doubt a remarkably unpleasant position. And Carl would know -- Beta's done the same thing to him several times whenever they sparred. But it was no doubt more painful to Henry, who was an enemy instead of a friend.

Carl held back a wince as Henry let out a shout of pain, his free hand grasping at the leaves below him, trying to get a good grip. Hershel let out a tiny gasp from where he sat in the dirt by Carl's feet, a hand moving to his mouth as he watched the scene unfold with horrified eyes. Carl really wished that the kid didn't have to see this, but he couldn't do anything about it either. 

Alpha straightened up, not looking the slightest bit sorry as she took in the pained expression on the teen's face. "I'll let him break it," she said to Henry, and Carl didn't have to ask what she meant to know she was talking about the boy's arm. Honestly, it wouldn't be the first time she's done something like it, "-and the other one, then your legs. And then I'll leave you out here to feed the hungry ones. The little one too."

Carl forced himself not to react to this despite knowing that Alpha would do just that if Henry didn't start speaking soon. Unlike him, Alpha never felt the slightest bit of remorse when killing small children, no matter what age. Beta, too. The two of them would kill and harm anyone that got in their way, not caring whether they were a child or not. 

Henry's eyes fell to where Hershel sat frozen at Carl's feet -- disbelief flashed across his face followed by horror before quickly being replaced by pain and alarm as Beta pulled even harder on his arm. "Okay!" He shouted desperately, and Carl had to grab onto Hershel to stop him from running forward to intervene, which the kid looked seconds away from doing. "Okay, just s-stop! Don't hurt him. Please! He didn't do anything wrong!"

Alpha nodded toward Beta, who released Henry's arm from the painful grip he had held it in. The teen let out a quiet sigh of relief, only to be grabbed up by Alpha, who yanked him to his feet without a single trace of gentleness. She let go of him, stepping back and giving him a cold glare. 

To Henry's credit, he didn't cower under her stare like most, including Carl, would've done. (Although that might simply be because he didn't know what she was capable of yet). Instead, he stared right back at her before glancing around. As if searching for something. Then, Henry's eyes fell to where Lydia stood silent behind Carl. The relief on the teen's face became clear the moment he set his sights on her, and Carl felt the realization dawn upon him immediately.

He had come here for Lydia -- of course he had. 

Henry looked back over to Alpha. "I'm from Hilltop." He said to her, breathing heavily. "But they didn't send me. Or him." He gestured to Hershel as he said the last bit. 

_So he came on his own without a plan or any backup, accidentally bringing a little kid along with him --_ Carl nearly snorted at the thought, rolling his remaining eye -- _that was stupid of him._ A quick glance toward Lydia told him that she was thinking along the same lines as him. 

Suddenly, Carl's mind wandered back to when he was at the Greene's farm when he had run after his father despite his mother's insistence for him to stay inside the house after Randall had -- according to Shane -- escaped and attacked him. _Then again,_ he mused, cringing slightly at the old memory, _I wasn't exactly the best at following orders when I was still a kid either._

Carl watched with one hand holding onto Hershel as Henry looked back over to Lydia, who had moved to Carl's side during the confrontation. After a second, Henry spoke up: "I came for her."

Alpha's head whipped around instantly, eyes landing on Lydia. A look of pure rage crossed over Lydia's features, and she strode forward, fists clenching. Carl already knew better than to try and stop her. 

"You're so stupid," she seethed, taking a broad swing in Henry's direction. Her fist collided with Henry's jaw, and Carl watched as the blonde fell to the ground with a loud grunt. Lydia stumbled back slightly from the force of her punch, her hair hanging in front of her face as she stared down at Henry. Not looking the slightest bit sorry.

Carl made sure to tighten his grip on Hershel's shoulder. The kid had begun to squirm and looked as if he were seconds away from running to Henry's side. Briefly, he wondered just how well Henry knew Hershel and vice versa. They definitely were familiar with one another. 

Henry pushed himself up, staring at Lydia through wide eyes. Carl found himself focusing more on Alpha, however, who, after watching Lydia punch Henry, had turned to Beta. "He's coming with us -- both of them." Her gaze moved over to where Carl stood, holding Hershel by the shoulder. Then, she looked toward the rest of the pack. 

"Eyes open." She said as Beta snatched Henry up again, pulling him to his feet. Carl hesitated for a brief moment before doing the same with Hershel, just much gentler than Beta. "Where there's one, there's more." 

She then turned around, back facing the rest of the pack and nodding toward Carl as she began shuffling forward, mimicking a walker's walk. That said enough. There was no time to loiter around any longer. It was time to go. 

The pack started moving as one, and Carl snatched Hershel up in his arms, ignoring the little boy's yelp of surprise as his tiny arms wound around Carl's neck. Hershel was surprisingly heavy for a kid his age, but it was nothing Carl couldn't handle. 

So he ducked his head, careful not to draw any attention to himself as he trailed slowly behind Beta, who held Henry in a tight grip. He simply copied Alpha, copied the movements of the dead that had been ingrained into him for years and years: feet shuffling in the dirt -- not quite leaving the ground -- body swaying with every step, jerky movements... 

Carl closed his eye, taking in a deep breath.

There was no time to think about his family: about his father, about Judith, about Michonne, about Daryl or Glenn or Maggie... No time to think about how his father might have reacted to the news of him being alive. There was no room to think about the potential fates of Hershel and Henry at the hands of Alpha. No space to feel guilty about it. All he had to do was survive. And that was something he had always been good at. 

Just survive.

For some reason, that just became ten times harder. 

* * *

Hershel had ended up nodding off by the time they had reached the main camp. How the kid had managed to fall asleep in a situation like this, Carl had no clue. But he was thankful for it nonetheless. As long as Hershel was sleeping, he couldn't do or say anything to possibly put Alpha's attention onto him more than what was necessary. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending, on how a person looked at it, her attention seems to mainly be focused on Henry and Lydia instead of Hershel.

He could feel the stares of the pack on him, or more specifically, on Hershel, who still lay unconscious in his arms. Burning holes into his back as he trailed behind Alpha. Carl had a pretty good idea why -- he had never shown the slightest interest in the children of the pack, so to see him with a child in his arms was no doubt an odd sight to most of them. And a lot of them probably didn't think they would see him around camp again after being captured. But not one of them dared to meet his eyes when he turned to glare at them, daring anyone to say something.

Good, they were still scared of him. At least one thing hadn't changed since he'd been captured.

"Get them a new skin." Carl looked up at the sound of Alpha's voice. She was looking at Beta, addressing him before her gaze moved over to where Lydia and Henry were walking a little way in front of them. "Take him with you."

Beta motioned for Carl to follow him but otherwise didn't even give him a second glance. Carl did so without argument, picking up his pace a little as the large man shoved Henry forward, and with quite a bit of force too if the way the teen stumbled said anything about it. This only made Carl hold onto Hershel tighter, reminding him of how likely it was that the child wouldn't even be alive by tomorrow morning if things were going the way he thought they were going. 

Carl passed by Lydia, who had started glancing around the camp while rubbing her arms. He met her eyes when she turned to look at him, offering her a small, albeit strained smile. She returned it after a moment, glancing back at her mother for a split second before trailing off after Carl, who made sure to keep Beta -- and Henry -- in his sight. Following them from a distance, but following them nonetheless. 

Beta stopped suddenly, grabbing Henry by the shoulder and shoving him against a tree. He then took out a rope of some kind from his jacket, growling something -- a threat probably -- to Henry before promptly starting to wrap the thing around the tree trunk, and then Henry. Securely tying the teenager to the tree. As Carl looked closer, he spotted the sticks jutting up from the ground -- a few drying skins, animal and walker alike, hanging on top of them. 

Beta looked up as Carl and Lydia approached, eyeing Hershel for a second before turning his attention to a walker corpse that had been pinned to another nearby tree by another member of the pack -- who was working a few feet away. The second in command took out his knife, striding past Carl and digging his blade into the walker's skin -- not hesitating for even a moment as he got to work on making a new mask. 

The disgust on Henry's face as he watched this was obvious, and it had once been on Carl's own face years before when he had first joined the Whisperers. It wasn't as disgusting to Carl as it once had been, so he hardly even gave the grotesque display a second glance as he leaned on a nearby tree close to where Henry was, adjusting a still sleeping Hershel in his arms. Perfectly content with just waiting until Beta was done. 

Lydia stood a few feet away, pretty much refusing to look at Henry, who kept trying to catch her eye. Instead, she focused all her attention on a loose thread in the dark jacket she wore, picking at it distractedly, her shoulders and back hunched over. The tension and awkwardness in the air was thick and heavy, and Carl felt that if he tried hard enough, he would be able to cut through it with the knife that was now attached to his belt. 

Beta worked for at least ten more minutes before finally slamming his knife into the tree bark, digging his fingers into each side of the walker's head and pulling the skin right off. Carl found himself tensing up right after as he heard someone come up beside him to his right -- in his blind spot. He turned his head slightly so he could look at the person through his remaining eye, relaxing somewhat when he saw Alpha come into view. 

She stalked slowly toward Henry, who remained oblivious to her approach. She went around the tree the teen was tied to, and Henry jumped -- well, as much as he could while tied up -- as she came into view. "You wonder why we do this," she whispered, eyes not moving from Henry, "why we hide among them... why we become them." Henry tried to move back as she came closer. The attempt was pitiful but also understandable.

Henry shook his head the smallest bit. "You're not them," he said softly, "you're not dead."

"Civilization is," Alpha responded, her voice low and nearing silent, "the strong adapt -- the weak die. Like nature intended." Henry glanced over to Lydia, who took a small step closer to Carl, ducking her head and once again not meeting his eyes. 

"So, that's what today was?" All heads in the vicinity, including Carl's, turned at the sound of a new voice. "You letting the weak die?" A man emerged from a nearby tree, followed by a woman -- two members of the pack, though Carl couldn't recall their names. He does remember seeing them a couple times before, though.

A ratty white shirt hung from the man's frame, a similar one on the woman's. The man crept forward, eyes pinned on Alpha. "We don't go back for the lost," he sneered, eyes flitting over to Carl and Lydia as he pulled to a stop. "Never have. Until your two little cubs got nabbed."

The fuck?

Carl blinked in confusion at the man's words, exchanging startled looks with Lydia, who appeared just as confused as he felt. Cubs? Did... did that man seriously just call Carl Alpha's child? Simply being referred to as Alpha's child gave Carl an odd feeling. It felt super weird. Just felt so... wrong -- and on so many levels. 

_Did he say that on purpose? Or does he actually think that I'm her son?_

The disturbing part about it was that Carl had no clue which one was the truth.

"We gave up two of theirs for your cubs. I don't like that math," the man continued on as Alpha watched him through narrowed eyes that were barely visible through the skin she wore, and Carl didn't have to see her without the mask to know just how unimpressed she was with this man's words.

"You know who they are now." Alpha started creeping forward, tilting her head at the man. "Where they are, what they have. We know if there's conflict, we'll win. The trade was worth it." She paused in her movements, putting her hands behind her back. "If you have a problem with me as leader, you know what to do."

Carl assessed the man from where he stood. He was taller than Alpha was. But he was thin and was, without a doubt, malnourished like most of the lower ranking pack members were. If this man chose to challenge Alpha, the outcome was already perfectly clear. Even if he did, by some odd twist of fate, win, he wouldn't stand a chance if Beta or Carl tried challenging him. Which Beta would definitely do if that ever happened. 

The man took a step forward, getting right into Alpha's face. "I challenge you," he declared, "you're not fit to lead anymore."

Alpha let out a series of low chuckles. "You think you're the man to replace _me?"_ She gave a breathy laugh, shaking her head. "To become the new Alpha?" 

In one swift movement, Beta lunged forward. He grabbed the man by the chin and yanked his head back, exposing his neck. Waiting for Alpha's signal to slit his throat with the knife that he now held inches away from the man's head. Carl absently held Hershel a little tighter, praying that the child would end up sleeping through this confrontation. Death may not affect Carl much anymore, but Hershel was an entirely different story. 

"You're changing the rules again," the man gasped out.

"You have the right to challenge my leadership at any time," Alpha assured him, taking a step forward as Beta shoved the man away. "And I..." she whispered, "have the right to defend it."

Before Carl could realize what was happening, Alpha darted to the side, grabbing the woman who had been at the man's side when he first appeared and throwing her in front of Beta. "I know it was you!" Alpha seethed, and the woman stumbled back, obviously taken by surprise by Alpha's sudden aggression towards her. 

"What are you doing?" The woman questioned, staring at Alpha with wide eyes.

"I saw you in the woods, plotting with your boyfriend." Alpha's gaze flitted between the two challengers, walking closer to the woman and circling around her.

"What?" The woman shook her head rapidly, trying desperately to defend herself. Carl already knew her attempts were in vain. "No, we weren't-"

"Oh, yes, you were." Alpha got right into the other woman's face. "Challenge isn't his. It's yours."

Carl stiffened when he felt Hershel starting to shift in his arms. _Fuck... please don't wake up. Not now!_ It seemed his prayers were in vain, for Hershel blinked open his green eyes, staring up at Carl curiously. The little boy opened his mouth, probably to question what was going on, but Carl quickly covered Hershel's mouth with a hand, silently shaking his head. 

Hershel seemed to take the hint, thankfully, and stayed quiet. It didn't stop him from trying to get a look around, but with his back facing Alpha -- who had begun circling the other woman -- all Carl had to do was hug Hershel closer to him and cover his eyes to stop him from seeing what was going on. 

"You led us into danger," the woman who challenged Alpha accused. And Carl had to hold Hershel still to stop the little boy from trying to get a look at who was speaking. "With the two boys here, we're still in danger. Their people have already killed many of ours. And where is the payback for that?" 

"You haven't failed me," the woman then declared, "you failed all of us."

Alpha stared at the woman -- regarding her. Then, she slowly started to turn her head, eyes moving to the crowd that had begun to form around them. "Have I failed you?" She questioned them, and when no one dared to respond, she turned back around to face the woman, holding out her arms. "They all follow me by choice. Cause I make them strong. Because I keep 'em alive." She pointed to herself. "Me."

Alpha let her arms fall down to her side, stalking forward as the woman began to speak again. "I don't want to fight you," she was saying as Alpha crept closer and closer, circling behind her. Carl caught sight of Alpha unwrapping something in her hands, and, knowing just what was about to happen, he pushed Hershel's head into his neck, covering the little boy's ears as best as he could to stop him from witnessing what would happen next.

"Carl?" The little boy whispered in a voice still hoarse from sleep. Thankfully, the crowd surrounding them seemed much too invested in the argument happening before them to hear Hershel's soft voice.

"Shh." Carl rested his chin atop Hershel's head, stroking the boy's dark hair in an attempt to keep him calm. Alpha moved right behind the woman, holding her head right above the woman's shoulders, whispering something into her ear that Carl failed to pick up.

Alpha lifted her arms up, swinging a wire over the woman's head and pulling back, _hard._ Beta grabbed the man by the hair, holding him back with a knife to his throat. Blood spurted from the woman's throat, gurgling as Alpha pulled harder and harder on the wire. There was the sound of bone's cracking, and the woman's head was dislodged from her body, rolling to the ground at Alpha's feet. The corpse fell with a thud, and Carl held back a grimace as the blood spilled on the leaves below. 

That would definitely put the walkers into a bit of a frenzy. 

Carl snuck a glance over at Henry, taking in the shell shocked expression on his face. As if he had suddenly realized just what would happen to him and possibly Hershel in a few short hours if things continued going the way they were currently going. 

Alpha leaned down, grabbing the now dead woman's head by the hair. She held it up for the entire crowd to see, undisturbed by the blood dripping from the head. She turned slowly, holding it in front of the man -- who was still in Beta's grip. She rolled the head around in her hands, stepping forward and gently placing it into the man's arms. 

The man took it without complaint, but seconds later, a sob escaped from him. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he stared at Alpha with thinly veiled hate in his eyes. He trembled and trembled, and Carl watched without a single shred of remorse as Alpha crept even closer, holding a single bloodied finger to her lips. "Shh..."

She wiped her hand across his face, smearing the blood of the man's dead girlfriend over his skin. She rubbed the tears from his eyes, whispering softly into his ear. "Crying is weak." 

And with that, she plunged her knife right into the man's stomach, watching as he fell to the ground, dead. She removed her knife, rolling her shoulders as she turned back to Beta. The crowd began to disperse, sensing that the show was over. "Someone clean this up," she called out, "don't need the dead coming into our camp."

A few seconds passed, and three members of the pack walked forward, already getting to work on removing the two bodies from the area. Carl watched as Alpha left, Beta following soon after. Lydia turned as well, grabbing one of the dried walker skins as she left. 

Carl swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat, loosening his tight grip on Hershel but not quite letting him out of his arms. He turned his back to the bodies, walking forward and listening as the chatter in the camp resumed once again. "Hey there, kid," he mumbled to Hershel, "you hungry?" 

"A little," Hershel admitted, staring up at Carl with wide green eyes. "What's goin' on? Where are we?" 

"Nothing important, kid," Carl answered, keeping his voice low as he approached one of the drying racks, pulling one of the dried walker skins from it. He would have to add some laces to it later. But he could do that on his own without any trouble. "We're at camp."

"Camp?" Hershel echoed, scrunching his nose as he took a look around, thankfully not catching sight of the corpses a few feet away. "This is your home?"

"For now." Carl tucked the dried walker skin into one of the pockets of his jacket, reminding himself to go and ask Beta about his bags a little later. "We move around a lot."

"Oh..." Hershel rested his head on Carl's chest, humming softly. "Can I have some food?" 

"Maybe." Carl looked around, unsure. Would he get in trouble for feeding Hershel? They've never really had prisoners before, so Carl didn't have a clue. "How about we go say hello to Henry, and I'll go find you something to eat -- does that sound good?"

"Okay," Hershel said with a nod, burrowing his face into Carl's shirt. He pulled back suddenly, wrinkling his nose, "you smell weird."

"Thanks, kid," Carl mumbled under his breath, turning around and heading back in the direction where Henry had been tied up. Thankfully, the two corpses weren't there any longer, and Henry was mostly alone. Lydia was working a couple feet away, gathering up a stack of bowls. She straightened up, giving Carl a small nod as she passed by. 

"Hi, Henry!" Hershel chirped, waving at the blonde teenager from where he was in Carl's arms. "Why are you tied up?"

"Um..." Henry stared at Hershel, looking so utterly baffled that Carl couldn't help but laugh.

"I don't think he realizes what's happening yet," Carl said to him, putting Hershel down. "He's tied up because he was being stupid, Hershel." He stretched his arms right after Hershel left his hold. Jesus Christ, were six-year-olds supposed to be that heavy? 

"I wasn't being..." Henry trailed off, watching as Hershel grinned up at him.

"Sneaking out is stupid," Hershel declared, crossing his arms. "The monsters are scary. Why would you want to go out there?"

"The monsters?" Henry echoed, looking up at Carl.

"He ran into some of the dead," Carl explained, watching as Henry blanched. "Lydia and I took care of them, and then..." he shrugged, crossing his arms right after. "Alpha found him."

"She's scary!" Hershel added with wide eyes. "Like -- super scary!"

"She is," Henry agreed, shifting slightly, his face twisting into an expression of discomfort. "Um... Delta?"

"Mhm?" Carl raised a brow at the teen, staring him down. 

"What's... what's going to happen to us?" There was a look of fear in Henry's eyes as he asked this, and he hung his head, light hair falling in front of his face. And Carl, having expected this question to pop up at some point, smiled sadly at Henry, shaking his head as he turned away, prepared to go and find something for Hershel -- and himself at that -- to eat. 

_"I think you already know..."_


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait to update this next week but uh, I have no self control whatsoever so here you go!
> 
> Also, after this chapter things are going to start branching out a bit more from canon. We'll start seeing more differences between this AU and canon, we'll figure out how Carl's disappearance affected the timeline some more too.

_“Delta.”_

Carl turned at the sound of his name being called, watching as Beta approached the spot where Carl stood at the edge of the camp, a dead, half skinned rabbit hanging from the branches in front of him. He had left Hershel with Lydia, not trusting anyone else in the pack to be anywhere near the kid and try not to hurt him. Carl was pretty sure that Lydia was not very happy with being left to babysit a six-year-old, but she seemed to understand his worry and did it without complaint. 

"Beta." He greeted faintly, turning back to the rabbit he was skinning and getting back to work, tearing bits of hide and fur from the small body. It would take a while to get the whole thing skinned and cooked enough to eat, and he wanted to get back to Hershel as soon as possible. "Do you need anything?"

He tensed somewhat as Beta moved behind him, circling around until he was standing in Carl's blind side. He tilted his head slightly, trying to keep Beta within his sights. He didn't really believe that Beta would try to harm him, but he never liked it when people were standing on his blind side -- not even Lydia, who he trusted with his life. It was just so unsettling when people were in his blind spot, knowing they were right there where he should see them, but he wasn't able to. He hated it.

"Where is your skin?" Beta questioned in a gruff voice, resting a hand on Carl's shoulder. He flinched away from the touch but bit back the urge to shove the hand off his shoulder. _Get it together, Grimes._ Carl was silent for a couple of seconds before he let out a small sigh, letting his arms drop down to his sides, deciding to abandon the rabbit for a few minutes in favor of talking to Beta.

"It's in my pocket," he explained softly, pulling it out and showing it to Beta. "I haven't laced it up yet."

"You should, and soon," Beta advised, staring down at Carl, "it's not wise to go without it."

"I'll do it once I'm done with this," he motioned toward the rabbit hanging from the branch he had tied it to before tucking the walker skin back into his pocket. "Now, is there anything you need, or did you just come to chat?" 

"You are unsettled," Beta said, ignoring his question, "why is that, Delta?"

Carl frowned, tilting his head up to get a good look at Beta. "I'm not -- unsettled, I mean." 

"You are," Beta insisted, "is it about the prisoners?"

Carl hesitated, unsure if he should say anything. Beta always had a pretty good bullshit detector, and he's known Carl for quite a while at this point, so trying to lie to him would be pretty useless. "That's part of it." He admitted. 

"Did you know them?" Carl tilted his head, brows furrowing as he processed the question. After a few moments, he shook his head, crossing his arms across his chest as he leaned back.

"No, not really. Lydia knows the older boy better than I do. He was in the cell next to her, apparently." Carl sent a brief, silent apology to Lydia for saying this to Beta. But after seeing Alpha interrogating Lydia on the walk to camp after Henry and Hershel appeared, he had a feeling that Alpha already wrangled these things out of her. 

"And the younger one?" 

Carl shrugged, having expected this question the moment Beta asked about the two boys. "I saw him once or twice. He brought me food and water the first night." That wasn't exactly a lie, either. Hershel did bring Carl some food and water, even if he wasn't supposed to. But if Beta learned that he had the chance to get away and didn't take it... it wouldn't be pretty. "Do you know what Alpha is planning for them?"

Beta nodded. "She wants the older one dead. Nothing is changing her mind about that." _Oh..._ Carl couldn't help the flare of sadness that appeared at that despite expecting this answer. Henry may not really be Carl's friend, but he already knew that seeing him die would not be a pleasant experience. He could only imagine how Lydia would feel. Beside him, Beta continued on. "The younger one, on the other hand, she is still deciding on."

"I see." Relief washed over him like a tidal wave at Beta's words. Hershel, for the time being, was safe. While Carl knew that Alpha might still decide to kill Hershel, the fact that there was now a chance of the kid living was enough for Carl. _Since when had I become so attached to him?_

"You know," Carl started, putting the topic of the fate of the two prisoners aside for the next few minutes. "I haven't seen Kappa around since I got back. What happened to him after Lydia and I got captured."

"He came back to tell us about what happened." Beta answered. "Alpha... wasn't impressed with him."

Carl didn't have to ask what Beta meant by that. He already knew. "He's dead, then?" Beta remained silent, which answered Carl's question. He let out a small sigh, shaking his head. "Hm, shame. I actually kind of liked the guy." 

Beta snorted at this, disbelieving. "Did you?"

"He followed orders," Carl found himself explaining to Beta, not really knowing why, "he respected authority. Gamma didn't." Oddly enough, his words were the full truth. Kappa followed orders without complaint, something that made things so much easier when ordering people around.

Beta let out a low chuckle at his words. Quieting down seconds later before speaking again. "Speaking of Gamma," Beta began, "you're third in command now."

Carl hummed, turning and raising his knife, returning to skinning the rabbit hanging from the branches as he spoke to Beta. "I figured that might have been the case. Alpha doesn't expect me to start going by 'Gamma' now, though. does she?" He ripped off a piece of hide from the dead animal, studying it for a quick moment before tossing it to the ground. It was way too small to be of any use.

"It's your choice," Beta confirmed, removing his hand from Carl's shoulder. "Go by Gamma or don't. You'll be third in command either way." 

Carl nodded absentmindedly, a grin on his face. "I think I'll stick to being called Delta." 

The thing was, Carl knew perfectly well what taking Gamma's place and becoming third in command would entail -- well, other than a title change. As Delta, things were simpler -- he didn't have to worry about people challenging him nearly as much as Alpha, Beta, or Gamma did -- or had. But now, Carl would have to watch his back a bit more than before. He suspected that some people in the pack wouldn't be pleased by him not only retaining his position after being captured, but being promoted as well. Someone would try and challenge him for his spot eventually, be it today or tomorrow or three years into the future. No matter how long it would take, it would happen.

Hearing a deep chuckle, Carl turned, arching a brow at Beta. The larger man just smirked in response, "I expected nothing less."

Carl rolled his eye, shaking his head in exasperation and returning to the rabbit. He must have moved his head too quickly, however, for the dull ache -- one that he had been trying to ignore -- that had been there for the past few hours returned again with a violent passion. He scowled, reaching up a hand to rub at his forehead, taking in a deep breath as the ache slowly intensified.

A hand wrapped around his wrist and Carl glanced up just as Beta pulled his hand away from his head. "When was the last time you've eaten, Delta?"

Carl blinked slowly, surprised at the sudden question. "I had some water earlier."

"I wasn't asking about water," Beta said to him, his irritation clear within his gruff voice. 

Carl shrugged, not really knowing why he was being asked this. Beta had never shown an ounce of concern if Carl ate or not, so why was the man asking now? "Can't really remember. Two -- three days?" He shrugged again. He'd gone longer without food, so he could handle a few days. Hunger was something he was used to at this point -- hell, being full was a rarity nowadays. "I was planning to have some of this rabbit once I finished with it."

"And that will not be for another few hours," Beta responded, digging into one of his pockets on his jacket. Carl watched curiously as the man dug around for a bit before pulling out his arm a few seconds later and revealing an apple. Carl felt his eye widen with surprise as Beta offered the fruit to him. "Here, found a tree full of them earlier."

What the fuck..?

"Thank you..." still slightly perplexed by this strange side of Beta, Carl reached out before hesitating, glancing nervously up at Beta, a part of him still half expecting the man to pull it away. When he didn't, Carl carefully took the apple from his grasp, rolling it between his hands. He lifted it up to his eye, studying it for any signs of worms or other bugs, and when he didn't find any, Carl took a bite. The fruit was sweet and crunchy, if not a little bit sour, but to Carl, it tasted much better than anything else he's had in quite a while. 

Carl took another bite, and then another. He paid no attention to the rabbit blood coating his fingers, too preoccupied with the fruit sitting in his hands to really care about accidentally getting any of the coppery liquid into his mouth. He could already feel his pounding headache be reduced to a meek throb and the cramping in his stomach almost entirely disappearing, something that relieved him greatly.

  
  


"Did anything interesting happen while I was gone?" He asked after swallowing down some of the fruit, peering up at Beta.

"Yes, actually." Carl perked up at this, tilting his head and listening carefully to Beta's words as the larger man continued speaking. "A few members of the pack aren't at all pleased that you are keeping your title after being captured." Carl raised a brow, not at all surprised at knowing that his earlier suspicions had been proven correct. Honestly, he would have been more surprised if they hadn't been. "I suspect someone may try and challenge you sometime soon." 

Carl took a second to process this information, taking yet another bite out of his apple. Seconds later, he started to nod. "Hm, good to know. Anyone specific I should watch out for?"

"Not that I am aware of," Beta said, resting his hands on his hips, "-but I will be sure to tell you if that ends up changing anytime soon." Beta spared a quick glance over at the camp, staring at the slowly darkening sun and then looking back over at Carl, his hands dropping back down to his sides. "However, I have a feeling that even if I do tell you or not, you'll be able to deal with any challenger without much trouble."

Carl snorted, a smirk of his own crossing his face, "never took you as the complimenting type, Beta. I'm flattered you think so highly of me."

"Shut it, brat." Carl let out a startled laugh as Beta raised a hand and cuffed him lightly around his head. When Carl looked back up at the man, however, he could see the faintest of smiles appearing on Beta's face. Something that took him momentarily by surprise. Beta has never, in the time that Carl's known him, been one to smile, only really doing it on occasion.

What the hell was up with Beta today?

Carl straightened up, reaching out his free hand so he could untie the dead rabbit from the branch he hung it from. "I'll keep an eye out then," he said, holding the rabbit in front of his face, studying it from every angle. He then glanced up at Beta, giving him a grateful nod. "Thank you for bringing that to my attention, Beta."

"It would be rude of me not to," Beta responded, and Carl couldn't help but snort at the irony of that statement.

"Since when have you ever cared about being rude?" Carl inquired, the corners of his mouth twitching up into an amused smile. 

"I don't," Beta shot back, "And, by the way, I believe you are still missing something."

Carl lifted an eyebrow, "and what exactly would that be?"

Instead of gifting him with an answer, Beta motioned for Carl to follow him, walking off without checking to see if Carl obeyed or not. Carl rushed off after him, trying desperately to keep up with the man's much broader strides. Beta led him back into the middle of the camp, ignoring the curious stares of the pack as he approached one of the many makeshift shelters in the area -- built out of tall branches and fallen sticks -- and ducked inside. Carl, after a split second, followed in suit.

"Beta?" The man, once again, didn't respond. Instead, he leaned down, picking something up from off the ground, dusting it off and turning back around. Carl's eye widened, surprise ebbing through him when he recognized what it was. 

"Is... is this my bag?" Carl asked slowly. He didn't know why he asked. He's had the damn thing for years at this point -- he would recognize it anywhere. The old, brown satchel was worn and torn, covered in dirt, blood, and all sorts of gross shit despite Carl's many attempts to clean it up. He held his apple up, holding it in his mouth so he could reach out to take the bag from Beta.

"I brought it with us when we moved camps," Beta explained, watching as Carl stared down at the bag in his hands. "I thought you might have wanted it back."

Carl put the dead rabbit down on a bed of leaves, opening up the bag so he could look through it. A couple of throwing knives, two hunting knives, a half-empty packet of cigarettes (he didn't really smoke, but he did do it on occasion), a lighter, and most important of all, his father's hat. 

Carl swallowed down the lump in his throat at seeing the familiar hat, his fingers grazing over the slightly crumpled fabric. Everything looked untouched, so he doubted that Beta had gone through it while he was gone, to which he was thankful.

"Jesus... I don't..." he shook his head, closing up the bag as he looked up at Beta, "Thank you, Beta. I - I appreciate it. I thought I lost this old thing."

"Of course," Beta said, dipped his head, "And Delta?"

"Yes?" Beta took a step forward, grabbing Carl by the shoulder and forcing him to meet his eyes.

_"Welcome home."_

* * *

By the time Carl had left Beta's shelter, his bag hanging over his shoulder and his rabbit in his other hand -- the sun had almost entirely dropped out of the sky. The world was turning darker and darker by the second, and he had no doubt that night would soon be upon them. As Carl walked through the camp, his new mask now donned on his head, he found himself rubbing his arms, trying to fight off the bitter cold that had begun to engulf the world. 

Absentmindedly, he tugged at the old leather jacket Beta had given him to replace his other sweater -- which had been dirty as hell and had all sorts of holes in it -- glancing around the camo anxiously as he walked, leaves crunching underfoot. There was a chill in the air now that night was coming closer, and even then, it wasn't only the nights. The days had begun getting colder as well, more so as they wore on. Carl had no doubt that winter would be even worse, something that he was already beginning to dread. Winters were never simple, and Carl could hardly even count the number of times the pack had gone hungry during that time, much less how many died each year due to starvation or cold.

It was too many to count -- too many deaths, too many close encounters. The winter never got any easier.

This next one wasn't going to be any different.

Carl stopped by a few members of the pack who were working on skinning and cooking their next meal. He dropped the rabbit in front of one of them, giving a quiet command to cook it before walking off. Heading in the direction he had last seen Hershel and Lydia, hoping they were still there. 

Hershel was, once again, fast asleep when Carl found the two of them after a minute or two of searching. How Hershel managed to sleep after literally having a nap a few hours earlier, he had no clue. The only different thing about this time was that he had fallen asleep curled up in Lydia's lap, who was currently sitting cross-legged in the dirt with an unimpressed look on her face. When she caught sight of Carl, she crossed her arms, waiting for him to get closer so she could speak.

"Oh, come on, he isn't that bad." Carl shot back with a grin on his face. Much like him, Lydia had no idea how to interact with kids or just people in general. 

"You didn't spend an hour trying to keep him from getting himself killed." Lydia retorted, rolling her eyes.

Carl's eye widened a fraction at her words, his worry immediately overpowering any other emotion at the moment. "Did anything happen?" He asked her, his mind racing with all sorts of horrible thoughts.

Lydia shook her head, and Carl let out a whoosh of air, shoulders slumping in relief. "No," she said, staring down at the sleeping boy still fast asleep in her lap, "but he kept trying to talk to people. I don't think he even realizes that he's a prisoner quite yet."

"Good, let him continue thinking that." Carl sat on the ground next to her, shifting slightly before folding his legs underneath himself -- putting his bag in his lap. He then reached behind his head, slowly pulling the threads of his mask loose and slipping it off his head. Lydia always preferred talking to him without the mask on, though he never really understood why. With the state that his face was in -- scars and all -- one would assume it would be the opposite. But with Lydia, that was never the case.

Lydia scooted closer to him, being surprisingly careful as to not jostle the still sleeping Hershel in her lap. She then reached up, resting her hand on his right cheek and pulling his face closer so they would make eye contact. She stared up at him for a few seconds, studying him, and then tilted her head. "You have that look on your face."

Carl's face contorted into an expression of confusion. "What look?'

"Like you know something I don't." Lydia declared, and Carl stilled, pulling away from her touch and focusing his attention on the ground beneath him, absently trailing his fingers through the dirt and leaves and huffing slightly. Lydia gave him a worried look. "Delta, what's wrong?"

He tried to keep his attention fixed solely on the ground, but his mind against his will ended up wandering over to Henry, who remained tied up somewhere else in camp, set to die sometime soon. Carl hadn't spoken a word about the boy's fate since Beta told him about it -- he had expected it, so he saw no reason to say anything. He hadn't really thought about it either, not until he was back with Lydia. And now...

Briefly, he considered not telling her about her friend's eventual fate, but the more logical side of him overcame that urge pretty quickly. Lydia deserved to know her friend's future, or rather, his end. "I talked with Beta earlier," he began slowly, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw her stiffen up. "Your mother... she's going to kill Henry."

"I..." Lydia swallowed, taking in a shaky breath. She started blinking rapidly, and even in the darkness, Carl could easily spy the tears shimmering in the corner of her eyes. "I had a feeling that was gonna happen," she said in a hoarse whisper, shaking her head slowly, "There was no way she would let him leave the camp alive."

Carl reached out, gently taking Lydia's hands within his own. He gave them a small squeeze, a sad look crossing over his face, "I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do. But Beta said she already decided."

"It's not your fault," Lydia assured him, her voice soft, "I just... he's my friend and I..." she squeezed her eyes shut, letting out a quiet sigh. "I should have known better..."

Carl's heart broke for her, unfortunately understanding just how she felt at this very moment. He had lost so many friends over the years, and he had never stopped feeling guilty about every single one, even now. He didn't want that to happen with Lydia, to have her feel that exact same guilt and grief that he had, but there was nothing he could do. The only way to get Henry out of this camo alive was to convince Alpha not to kill him, and Carl would need an insanely good argument for that if he didn't want Alpha to think he was going soft. It was either that or a goddamn miracle. But miracles didn't happen in this world, not anymore.

Carl dropped her hand after a moment, letting out a soft sigh and curling an arm around her waist and tugging her close. She rested her head against his shoulder and opened up her eyes, staring up at him wordlessly. The two of them remained silent for a long time: the only sounds being the crickets somewhere in the distance, the quiet chatter of the pack, the rustling of leaves, the groans of the dead, and the occasional animal call that he was unable to place. In the corner of his eye, he began to realize that Lydia was shivering.

She caught his look and gave him a small smile. "It's cold..." she explained in a very soft voice. Carl nodded, a little confused at the sudden change in subject, but otherwise didn't say anything to her about it -- he could understand why Lydia wanted to focus her mind on other things. He'd done it a couple times before, so he really wasn't one to judge. She had just learned that her newest friend, in literal years, was about to die at the hands of her own mother. Carl would give her a pass if she wanted it.

"Want my jacket?" He offered instead, watching in faint surprise as her face began to redden somewhat in the darkness.

Lydia shook her head, a yawn escaping her lips. "No..." she said quietly, I don't want you to freeze."

"It's fine," Carl assured her, "I won't freeze; I've had worse." Much worse. He'd been in pretty cold climates several times during the past few years. A few times during the winter after the Greene Family Farm fell, a couple of times during the winter after the prison fell, and a hell lot more during his time with the Whisperers. The cold was just as familiar to him as hunger was. 

"And so have I." Upon seeing his look, she shook her head and then said, "It's fine, Delta. I don't even know why I brought it up. It's not even winter yet." 

Carl hummed doubtfully at this, though a small smile spread across his face as she moved closer, wiggling around for a bit before resting her head back on his arm. They remained silent, and briefly, he wondered what Lydia was thinking. If she really was as calm as she currently appeared. He had no doubt that her head was spinning with all sorts of different thoughts, but whether they were good ones or bad ones was what he really wanted to know. 

A particular cold gust of wind swept by and Carl scowled, "I hate winter."

"I know, Delta," Lydia hummed sleepily.

"You're warm," Carl stated.

Lydia yawned again. "And you're cute."

"You know it," Carl teased, planting a loud kiss onto her cheek much to Lydia's chagrin. She smacked him playfully on the shoulder, sending him a dirty look at the expression of innocence he had plastered on his face. She looked like she was about to say something, but a voice cut her off.

"Are you guys gonna kiss?" Carl and Lydia whipped their heads around at the voice, realizing that it had come from Hershel, who stared up at them from his spot on Lydia's lap. The kid gave them a curious look, "My mom and dad do that when they're about to kiss."

"I... uh, Hershel! What are you..." Carl stammered, taken by surprise. Jesus, how had he not noticed Hershel waking up? He cleared his throat, "No, we weren't going to kiss. Lydia is my friend. Kissing her would be weird."

Hershel nodded, sitting up slightly. "Oh, okay, good," he stated, rubbing his eyes, "Kissing is gross." 

Carl raised a brow. "Have you ever kissed someone, Hershel?"

"No..."

"Then shush." The kid obeyed, focusing his attention on fixing his hat. A part of Carl wondered if it was Glenn's hat that Hershel always wore. It would be something the two of them had in common -- wearing their dad's hats. Well, Carl didn't really wear his anymore, so, _technically,_ it was something they _used to_ have in common.

Carl glanced over at Lydia to take in her reaction to Hershel's sudden question. She had her head ducked down and, to Carl's surprise, had a little smile on her face. And even through the darkness, he could spot the smallest hint of red forming on her cheeks. Confused, he asked, "What's got you looking so happy?"

Lydia jumped, obviously startled. "Nothing!" 

Carl snorted, a smirk spreading across his face. "Sure doesn't look like nothing."

She shot him a glare. "Delta."

"Lydia." He returned, his mouth curving up into a smile. Lydia just glared at him. "What?"

She waved a finger in his face. "I will smack you."

"No, you won't."

"Why not?"

"Cause I'm cute." She gave him a dirty look, and Carl raised his hands in mock surrender. "Your words, not mine!"

"Well, I take it back." Carl let out a dramatic gasp, letting go of Lydia to fake collapsing in the dirt.

"Lydia, I'm hurt!" 

"How horrible." She deadpanned, though he could see the corners of her mouth twitching up into a smile.

Carl sat up again, wrapping his arm once more around Lydia and staring down at Hershel, who remained sitting in her lap. Carl was honestly a bit surprised she hadn't insisted on him sitting in Carl's lap or something. Maybe she liked him more than she had first let on. Oh well. "Hershel, did you hear what she just said to me?"

Hershel looked up, blinking in bewilderment. "Huh?" 

Lydia rolled her eyes, poking Carl in the side. "Oh, shut it, you big baby."

Hershel stared up at the two of them in thinly veiled confusion. "You two are weird." He declared after a moment.

"Are we?" Carl asked him, amused.

Hershel nodded rapidly. "Yeah."

"Thanks, kiddo."

"Your welcome!"

And with that, the three of them had descended back into the silence. Carl absently started playing with Lydia's har, keeping an eye on Hershel to make sure the kid wasn't about to run off somewhere. After at least ten or so minutes, he heard Lydia's breathing begin to even out and, after doing a quick check, concluded that she had fallen asleep. Good, she needed it, especially after everything that's been happening lately.

Carl already knew he wouldn't be falling asleep anytime soon -- he's always had a bit of trouble sleeping -- so he didn't bother trying. Instead, he pulled Hershel off of Lydia's lap, careful not to wake her. Hershel protested a little bit but otherwise didn't do or say anything else as he settled down on Carl's other side, curling up into a tiny ball in an attempt to keep warm. Hershel was shaking like a leaf, and Carl realized that the kid probably had never slept outside Hilltop's walls before, so this was no doubt a new experience for him. And an uncomfortable one. 

"Here," Carl said softly, pulling off his jacket, careful not to wake Lydia -- who was currently using his arm as a pillow -- and draping it over Hershel's small frame. "That better?"

Hershel nodded, snuggling into the jacket. The leather jacket practically drowned the kid, making it so that the only thing Carl could see was his head, which was an amusing sight. "Thank you..." Hershel said sleepily. Carl smiled down at him, an unexpected rush of familial warmth flowing through him. 

Was this what it felt like to be an older brother? If it was, Carl now wished even more that he could have done something like this with Judith. But the world had taken that opportunity from him a long time ago when Judith had -- more likely than not -- died back at the prison. Even then, Carl could have known Hershel so much earlier if things had gone just a little differently -- he could have been there for his birth, could have helped take care of him when Maggie or Glenn weren't able to, and...

Carl shivered as another cold gust of wind passed by, causing goosebumps to form on his newly revealed and uninjured skin. He pulled at his dark shirt, wishing he had one with longer sleeves. Carl glanced down as Hershel cuddled into his side, strands of the kid's dark hair falling in front of his face. Hershel's eyes were closed, but Carl could tell that he hadn't yet fallen asleep, though he was definitely close. 

Carl looked up at the sound of footsteps, eye widening in surprise when he spotted Alpha stalking through the camp -- towards them. Carl inhaled sharply and turned, quickly shaking Lydia awake, a feeling of dread bubbling in his stomach at the look on Alpha's face. Not anger or anything like that, but something else. Something different. But Carl couldn't tell what.

That only made it scarier.

"Wha-" Lydia let out a startled yelp as Alpha grabbed her by the arm, yanking her up and holding her arm in a bruising grip as she began to drag her off. Lydia stumbled but followed her mother, turning her head and looking back at Carl with fear and confusion glowing in her eyes.

Carl started climbing to his feet the moment Lydia had been hauled away, slipping on his mask and grabbing one of his knives from its sheath, just in case things got bad. Which they usually did.

"What's goin' on?" Hershel mumbled, blinking open his eyes at Carl's sudden movement. "Carl?"

A part of Carl wanted to tell Hershel to stay here and not to move, but he really doubted that the kid would listen to him, and even if he did, what are the chances of one of the pack members _not_ trying to take advantage of Carl's absence to attack him? Close to none. So Carl just picked Hershel up, running off after Alpha and Lydia. He found them in a clearing at the edge of camp, Lydia rubbing at her arms and glancing around anxiously. Alpha stood right next to Lydia, seemingly waiting for something, not even sparing Carl a second glance as he appeared with Hershel in tow.

That something appeared seconds later.

Beta came charging into the clearing, dragging a very, very confused looking Henry along with him. Beta held him by the shirt, pushing him forward until he was standing right in front of Lydia and Alpha. Even then, Beta still did not let Henry go. Instead, he held him in a tight grip, and Henry looked around, clearly having just been woken from sleep. 

Carl's stomach dropped as the realization rapidly overcame him. This was it. They were killing Henry. Carl shifted Hershel around in his arms until the little boy wasn't facing the group any longer. Hershel was only a child. He didn't deserve to see his friend die right in front of him.

A crowd was beginning to form in the trees around them, the pack sensing that something different was going on. They all watched as Alpha reached for something in her belt. There was the sound of a knife being unsheathed, and Alpha tossed the blade down to the ground. Right in front of Lydia. 

Carl had a horrible feeling of foreboding wash over him suddenly. 

"Pick it up," Alpha demanded, and Carl watched as the realization dawned in Lydia's eyes as well. She stared at her mother with wide eyes, gaze flitting between the knife on the ground, to Henry and Beta, to Carl and Hershel, before going back to her mother. 

Carl took a step forward. "Alpha-"

"Silence, Delta," Alpha hissed, and Carl fell silent immediately, hating himself for doing it. She then looked over to Lydia, her eyes narrowing. "Pick...it...up." She drew out each word, her tone low and dangerous, and leaving no possible room for argument. 

Lydia visibly trembled as she leaned down, her fingers slowly wrapping around the blade. She then straightened up, shoulders shaking as her hair fell in front of her face. She was clearly doing anything she could to stop herself from crying. Carl wished he could do something, anything, to help her. Or at least make it so that she didn't have to be the one to kill Henry. He had thought that Alpha would be the one to do it, or maybe Beta. He hadn't expected Alpha to make Lydia do it, though he honestly should have. 

"Now... kill the boy," Alpha demanded, and in his arms, Hershel let out a quiet gasp, beginning to squirm around in Carl's grasp. He made sure to hold Hershel tighter, making it so the young boy wouldn't try and intervene. Hershel didn't cease with his attempts, but Carl refused to loosen his grip. 

"What?" Lydia stared at her mother in shock, her voice barely a whisper. From where he was in Beta's grip, Henry began to struggle, finally realizing what was about to happen to him. Despite the teen's attempts, Beta didn't have much trouble with keeping Henry in place. 

"You weren't gone long," Alpha said slowly, eyes not leaving Lydia, "maybe it was long enough."

Lydia looked over at Henry before returning her gaze back over to her mother. "Long enough for what?" 

"To forget which side you're on."

Carl put Hershel down, giving the boy a quiet order to stay still before straightening up and taking a few steps forward, drawing everyone's attention onto him. "Alpha... if you need someone to kill the boy, let me do it. Lydia doesn't-"

But Alpha simply raised a hand, cutting him off. "I already know you'll do it, Delta. But Lydia..." she gave her daughter a once-over. "-she still needs to prove herself. So, Lydia. Kill. The. Boy."

Lydia looked down at the knife, shoulders slumping with defeat, a soft sob escaping her. Tears trickled down her face, falling onto the glistening blade of her mother's knife. Carl wanted nothing more than to run over and hug her, to take the knife and do it himself so she wouldn't have to, but he couldn't. Alpha already forbade it, and he couldn't disobey her. 

"Please..." the plea that escaped from Henry fell on deaf ears. Alpha didn't even spare him a glance, all of her attention focused on Lydia and the knife clasped tightly in her hand. 

"Don't be weak, like your father." Alpha hissed to her as Lydia struggled to stop the flow of tears, "You know what happened to him."

Lydia's face scrunched up into an expression of anger at the mention of her father. "Yeah, I know what happened to him, Mother." She practically spat it out, her rage causing her body to shake even more than before. 

Alpha simply stared at Lydia for a few moments, completely expressionless. Then, she nodded to Henry. "Kill him," she ordered, "Or he'll kill you both. You decide. 

She motioned toward Henry. "Go on."

Lydia took a slow step forward, raising the knife somewhat. She stared at Henry, taking another reluctant step toward him. Carl turned around, prepared to block Hershel's view from having to watch Henry die, when he heard something odd... something very familiar...

Groans...?

But wouldn't that mean-

"Guardians!" Someone nearby screamed, and in seconds, the whole camp was in total chaos. 

Carl doesn't think he's ever been so happy to hear the low snarls and growls of walkers ever in his entire life. For the last decade, he associated the sound of walkers with death and grief and was something he always hated to hear. But now, the sound was like a goddamn miracle. 

All around them, people were rapidly tugging on their masks or screaming as they were torn apart by the dead. Walkers were everywhere, and Carl pulled on his own walker skin. Alpha stalked forward, and Beta shoved Henry away, following their leader as she disappeared into the chaos. 

Hershel let out a cry of fear from behind him, and Carl's head whipped around, striding forward and burying his knife into the skull of the walker crawling on the ground that had made a grab at Hershel's feet. He turned back around, gathering a terrified Hershel into his arms and taking a good look around the camp. Walkers were everywhere, devouring those who weren't wearing their masks. How the hell rotting, brainless corpses managed to come into camp without garnering anyone's attention, he had no clue, but he wasn't about to waste time trying to find out. 

Because now, he had a more pressing problem. That being the fact that neither Henry, Lydia, or Hershel had masks on in an area full of walkers.

Making a sudden decision, Carl reached up a hand, pulling off his mask in one smooth motion. Almost instantly, a nearby walker lunged at him, but Carl kicked it back, crushing its rotted head under his boot. He then marched forward and shoved the mask into Lydia's arms, motioning for her to put it on before grabbing a startled Henry and pushing him into the direction of the trees. When Henry hesitated, Carl just dug his fingers into the teen's shoulders and started dragging him away, glancing back to make sure Lydia was following him.

  
  


"Keep going," He ordered Henry in a quiet tone of voice as the camp disappeared from view, "do you have a weapon?"

He honestly doubted Alpha would let Henry keep any weapons that he could potentially use against the Whisperers, but he had to make sure. He couldn't let Henry and Hershel be out here totally defenseless.

As Carl had expected, Henry shook his head at the question, stumbling somewhat as Carl started moving faster, "They took everything I had away from me. Weapons included." There was something both wistful and angry in his voice as he said this, but Carl didn't have the time nor energy to wonder why. 

Carl dug his hand into the bag hanging around his shoulder, digging through its contents as quickly as he could. After a moment, his fingers closed around one of his knives, and he took it out, shoving it into Henry's hand. Henry took it without complaint, keeping it poised and ready to strike any walkers -- or people -- that came for them.

Hershel was whimpering in his arms, and Carl kept looking back every few moments to make sure no one was following them. His heart thundered in his chest, knowing just what would happen if Alpha caught him helping Henry and Hershel escape. But he continued on nonetheless, going further and further into the trees until the screams in the camp became fainter and fainter. If he could get Henry far enough away from the chaos, then the teen could take Hershel and run.

And maybe even Lydia.

The thought was more of a weak hope. He didn't know if Hilltop would be willing to take Lydia in again. Maybe his dad might let it happen if he learned she was Carl's friend, but if not... Well, as long as Lydia was away from Alpha, then she was already a hundred times safer. Hell, even if the community didn't accept her at first, he had a feeling that Henry wouldn't take no for an answer. That was one thing he could respect about Henry.

Carl had let go of Henry's shoulder at some point while running in favor of carrying Hershel but still remained close to the teen in case something popped out somewhere nearby. Lydia followed on his other side, wearing the walker mask Carl had given her with her mother's knife clenched tightly in her grip.

Once Carl decided that they had put enough distance between them and the chaos happening back at camp, he stopped, letting Hershel wiggle out from his arms onto the grass below. Carl took a look around. They were in a small clearing of some sort, and while Carl could see no more walkers, he could still hear the sound of screams coming from the direction of the camp. 

"Is everyone okay?" Carl asked as Henry and Lydia pulled to a stop beside him, Lydia holding out the mask he had given her. Carl took it absently, watching as Hershel clambered up to his feet, wrapping his arms around Carl's leg and nodding weakly. Lydia gave him a nod of her own, as did Henry seconds later after he had caught his breath. "Okay, good. Let's keep it that way."

"What do we do now?" Henry asked, crossing his arms. The teenager looked horribly shaken, and seeing as he had almost been killed minutes before, that was understandable. "We're not going back, are we?"

"You three aren't," Carl said, and he watched the confusion spread across Lydia's face. She was probably going to hate him for this. "I can buy you guys some time. But not a lot. You need to get the hell out of here. I don't care where you go, just get far away from here."

"What?! No!" Lydia, as expected, immediately started shaking her head, shoving past a startled Henry to look Carl in the eye. "Delta, you can't!" 

"Lydia, it's the safest option," Carl tried, but Lydia clearly wasn't about to relent. Not anytime soon. 

"Not for you!" Lydia argued, crossing her arms over her chest. "You could _die!"_

"Do you have any better ideas?" Carl asked her, "Because I'm all ears." 

"Yes," Lydia declared, tilting her head to the side, her eyes glowing with determination, "and it includes you coming with us."

Carl shook his head, sighing sadly and heavily. "I can't, Lydia. It's too dangerous."

"Why?!" Lydia cried out, taking another step forward. "What makes it so much more dangerous? If anything, we'll be safer." Behind her, both Henry and Hershel were shifting uncomfortably. 

There was a sudden rustling in the bushes somewhere behind him, drawing his attention away from the argument and quickly catching both Henry and Lydia's attention as well, the former taking a step back to push Hershel behind him. Carl whirled around, hand moving to his knife, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lydia and Henry do the same. But then the branches parted, and before Carl could do or say a thing, Hershel was running forward, arms outstretched.

"Daddy!" The little boy shrieked, and a slim figure darted out of the bushes, lifting Hershel into his arms and spinning him around.

"Hershel? Oh, thank god!" Glenn buried his nose into his son's hair, hugging Hershel as tight as he could. Carl watched on in confusion. What the hell was Glenn doing here?

The bushes rustled again, and a few more figures stepped out. Daryl, with his crossbow raised up, took a few steps forward, lowering it when he saw Carl. Briefly, Carl could have sworn the man looked relieved at seeing him, but then Daryl turned toward Hershel and Glenn, plastering a scowl back on his face, and that relief was gone. A woman stepped out a few seconds later, and was now aiming what appeared to be a slingshot at him.

_A slingshot, really?_

"As cute as all this is, we need ta go, righ' now!" Daryl made a grab at Henry, but the teenager jumped back out of the archer's reach. 

"No, I'm not leaving without Lydia," Henry said stubbornly, crossing his arms and moving to stand in front of her. Carl felt a wave of respect for this boy wash over him, despite his apparent stupidity at times, like when he followed a group of obviously dangerous people without any backup, he had guts. And the two of them appeared to share the same interest in protecting Lydia. Not that she needed very much protecting. 

"You should listen to him," Carl said, drawing the group's attention to him. "-get out of here while you still can. I can get you all some time so you can get away, but not if you keep loitering around." 

"No, I'm not leaving without you." Lydia insisted, shaking her head once more. 

"You have to," Carl said softly, "you'd be safer with them."

He made a move to leave, but she grabbed him by the hand, stopping him and looking up at him with pleading eyes, "if Alpha finds out you let us all go-"

"She won't," Carl interrupted, resting his hands on her shoulders before pulling the girl into a hug, "I can handle myself. I've done so for years, you know that, Lydia." The truth was, all he wanted to do was to throw away his mask and go with them, to reunite with his father for the first time in years, but he knew that, deep down, he couldn't do that. "I'll be fine." 

"You promise?" Lydia whispered. He felt the girl sniffle quietly into his shoulder, and it was taking every ounce of willpower not to start crying himself. 

"I promise." He said, pulling away from Lydia and giving her a sad smile. An idea suddenly flowered in his head, and Carl reached into his bag. He dug around for a bit when his fingers closed around a familiar fabric, and he grinned. He hesitated for a second before pulling out his hat for the first time in years and, while keeping it out of Daryl and Glenn's line of sight, pushed it into Lydia's arms.

She took it but gave him a confused look, and he smiled, "for luck." He explained, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Isn't it your dad's?" Lydia asked in a whisper. He wasn't surprised she remembered that. She had seen him wearing it around camp during the first few months he had been a part of the Whisperers -- or, at least, before Alpha forced him to take it off -- and had asked about it a couple of times before Carl told her. 

"I haven't worn it in years, and you need it more than I do." He whispered back, dipping his head down and pressing his lips to her forehead. He then took a step back, gaze sweeping over the group before nodding to himself. 

"You should go." _Before it's too late._ "It's not safe here." _It never is._ Daryl regarded him through narrowed eyes before looking away and gesturing toward the others to start moving. Glenn looked on the verge of protesting, but then with a glance down at his son, nodded and ducked back into the bushes, the woman, Henry, and Lydia following in suit.

Daryl remained where he was. "You sure this is what you want?" He asked Carl, taking a step forward and reaching out a hand, "You can come with us. You'll be safe with us."

Carl shook his head. "It's safest this way." 

"Is it?"

Carl kept quiet, refusing to respond. He wanted nothing more than to listen to Daryl -- to go with him and not have to be a part of the Whisperers ever again. But he had to be smart about this. And that meant staying on the down-low for a while. And that meant staying with Alpha for the time being.

He turned around, prepared to make the trek back to camp. He had just taken the first few steps forward when Daryl grabbed him by the arm. Carl looked up, giving Daryl a curious look.

"Stay safe, kid." Daryl looked like he wanted to say more, but he was obviously aware of the lack of time they had. "We just got you back, don't want'ta lose you again."

"No promises," He said softly, and with that, he pulled his arm out of Daryl's grip, turning away and walking into the trees. Every step seemed to get heavier and heavier as he drew closer and closer to camp. But he didn't dare look back -- he couldn't. 

He didn’t think his heart could take it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Six and A Half Years Ago**

Lydia looked up as a loud commotion started from somewhere outside the building they were hiding out in. The dead were unsettled -- hissing, moaning, and groaning -- she knew all too well what that meant.

They had set their sights on prey of some kind.

Her mother -- _no, Alpha,_ Lydia chided, still not quite used to the new title, _you call her Alpha_ \-- glanced up from where she sat in the corner of the room in the old, rundown building they had taken shelter in, interest and annoyance blatant in her eyes. But she didn't make a move to get up, content on waiting for the dead to catch whatever it was that was riling them up. There was no need to get involved. The dead would capture their food and calm down eventually.

But the dead weren't calming down -- they only seemed to be getting more wild as the seconds wore on. With a quiet sigh, Alpha pulled herself up to her feet and, without even sparing Lydia a single glance, grabbed her skin from where it lay on the floor and tugged it onto her face. As soon as she had it on her face, Alpha turned sharply, ducking through the half-opened door that led out into the hallway of the large building and leaving Lydia alone.

Lydia hesitated for a couple of moments in the spot where she currently sat, eyebrows knitted together in thought, wondering if she should stay in the room and wait for her mother to come back or go check out whatever was going on herself. In the end, her curiosity got the best of her, and Lydia slowly clambered up to her feet, grabbing her own skin (which still felt super weird to wear) and following her mother with quiet footsteps as she too emerged from the room and into the long hallway.

A cold gust of air rushed past her the moment that she took her first step out of the room, and she scrunched up her face, ducking her head and hugging her arms to her chest as she moved. It had been surprisingly cold out for quite some time now, which was the main reason that Alpha, Beta, Lydia, and the four others that they were traveling with had decided to take shelter in a building instead of somewhere out in the forest like they often did. They may be monsters, but that didn't mean they had to like the cold. 

Thankfully it wasn't snowing, though Lydia was pretty sure that it wouldn't be staying that way for much longer. It would only be a matter of time before winter fully set in, and not even a building as big as this one could stop the cold from seeping in. They probably weren't staying here for long, though. They never did, no matter how dire the current situation may or may not be. _We're monsters,_ her mother had said, _and they don't care about how cold it may be._

As Lydia made her way down the long, winding hallway, she could spy the two members of the pack that Beta hadn't brought with him to go hunting, poking their heads out of the rooms they were hidden in. Both equally as curious about what was going on as it seemed. Lydia gave the two a wide girth as she passed them, still not entirely comfortable with being in the vicinity of anyone other than her mother. Not only that but one of them, the man whose name Lydia couldn't for the life of her recall, kept giving her this weird look. It's almost _hungry,_ but Lydia didn't know why -- what she did know, however, was that it made her skin tingle with anxiety and nerves and _fear_ \-- his stare made her feel like prey, and she hated feeling that way.

In fact, she could feel his stare on her right now, and that only made Lydia move even faster, darting around the hallway's corner and after her mother, who stalked forward like a predator that was prepared to pounce. Anxious, Lydia gnawed on her lower lip, nearly running face-first into her mother's back after the woman pulled to a stop by the door leading to the outside world. At first, Lydia was confused as to why she stopped, but then as she listened, she could hear the sound of shouting, followed by a loud banging on the door. 

"Open the door!" A voice yelled out, and Lydia's eyes widened when she recognized it.

It was Beta.

Alpha strode forward at the sound of his voice, motioning for Lydia to move to the side as her fingers closed around the door's handle. Lydia nodded, pressing her body against the wall right as her mother pulled open the door. Almost instantly, Beta's burst into the room, followed by the two others that he had brought out there along with him. Alpha slammed the door shut as soon as they were all inside, struggling slightly as the dead pushed against the door but managing just fine nonetheless.

Alpha took a couple of steps away from the door, eyeing it with disdain before turning sharply to look at the group of three that had caused so much turmoil and confusion among the dead surrounding the building. They were all wearing their skins and looked relatively uninjured, so there was no apparent reason as to why they had even caught the dead's attention in the first place. Unless one of them had panicked or something like that, Lydia couldn't see Beta panicking, but the other two... that seemed way more likely.

Either way, Alpha wasn't going to be happy with them -- not at all.

Lydia hardly registered as the other two pack members came into view. Instead, she furrowed her brows, a small frown pulling at her lips as her eyes landed on something she hadn't seen at first glance. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see that Beta was carrying something, something humanoid; a body? Why would Beta bring a body over here? 

But as Lydia took an even closer look, she realized something very, very important. Although it mostly lay still in Beta's arms, she was able to spy the slow rise and fall of the body's chest as they took in ragged breaths. This 'body' was alive. The longer that she looked, the more details that Lydia was able to make out. 

It was a boy Beta was carrying, she realized suddenly. A teenager, really, maybe a couple of years older than her if she had to guess -- with long, dark, and matted hair that stuck to ghostly pale skin. Sweat trickled down the side of his face, but a darker liquid did as well -- it was blood. That was most likely what had caught the dead's attention in the first place, she realizes. 

Alpha took a small step forward, peering down at the boy before moving her gaze back up to Beta. "Explain." She demanded -- her voice low and nearing silent. Lydia knew what that tone meant: it meant her mother was angry. Beta better have a good excuse for this -- whatever **this** was.

Beta dipped his head respectfully as he began to speak in his deep and growly voice, "we found him and two others in a camp a few miles away. We were originally planning on watching them - to see if they were worthy of bringing back. But another group attacked them before we could come to a decision." Everyone here was listening in now, all eyeing the unconscious boy lying in Beta's arms with great curiosity. "-the group that attacked them killed the two older ones, but this one ran. He got injured, so we decided to bring him back." 

"And why did you do that, Beta?" Alpha inquired, not looking at all impressed with Beta's decision. "If the boy was injured, that is his own fault. We do not let the _weak_ into the pack." She practically spat out the last bit, beginning to circle Beta.

"I did it because he is not weak," Beta answered, raising his head to look at Alpha, "he survived a gunshot to the head, and his eye was shot right out-" Murmurs of surprise and interest rose up from the two behind Lydia. But Beta ignored them as he continued on, "-most would have died from blood loss or gone unconscious. The boy did neither. He managed to - not only fight off his pursuer - but push him into a group of the dead and run from the guardians pursuing him despite obviously suffering from blood loss. The boy has a fighting spirit. I think he might be of use to us in the future." 

Alpha was silent for one long moment before walking forward, stopping in front of Beta and peering down at the boy in his arms. She brushed aside a strand of hair, and Lydia's eyes widened at the sight of the gaping hole on the right side of the boy's face. It looked like half of his face had been blown off -- how was he even still alive?

"Take him to your room," Alpha said suddenly, "the boy is your responsibility for the time being, Beta. I want you to patch him up, keep him alive, and **if** he wakes up, bring him straight to me." Various murmurs of surprise echoed throughout the other four, and Lydia found that she agreed with them. Her mother never did things like this. So why was she doing it now? 

Beta only nodded, unaffected by the hushed whispers, "Of course, Alpha."

* * *

**In the Present**

_Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid-_

Lydia's lungs ached and burned with the effort she was putting in to run. But she didn't care. All she cared about was getting as far away from her mother as she could. That was what she needed to do. What Delta told her to do. She could hardly even see a foot ahead of her, but she still ran because to stop and rest would mean she'd be left behind. And that meant she'd be on her own to deal with whatever search party her mother sent for her.

She couldn't let that happen.

In front of her, Henry fell with a muffled yelp. Lydia was at his side in seconds, as was Daryl. The blond had fallen hard on his stomach, and he let out a hiss of pain as he struggled to climb back up to his feet. Lydia stepped back, satisfied he wasn't about to die, as Daryl crouched down beside him. Glenn and the woman with the slingshot -- Connie -- stood a little ways away, and, predictably, Hershel was fast asleep in his father's arms.

_Hershel really seems to like sleeping,_ Lydia noted briefly, turning her attention back over to Henry. 

"You all right?" Daryl asked as Henry let out another wheeze of pain. Connie rushed forward, grabbing the boy by the arm to help him to his feet. Daryl stepped back, his face twisting into an odd expression.

"This isn't the way back to Hilltop..." Henry gasped out, looking around the area in sudden realization. Glenn walked forward, a sheepish smile on his face. 

"Tara, Maggie, and I made a deal with those guys." Glenn explained, hefting Hershel up slightly. "We, uh, broke it. So we aren't going back to Hilltop until the coast is clear."

Lydia found herself nodding in agreement, holding Delta's hat a little closer to her chest. _Actually..._ Lydia took a quick glance around before putting the hat on her head. It was a bit dusty, but Lydia could handle a bit of dust. The hat was comforting, nonetheless. It kind of smelled like Delta, too. Like forest and leather. She could now see why Delta used to wear it so much before her mom -- no, Alpha -- made him take it off. 

"How long will that take?" Henry asked, looking to Glenn in confusion. 

The man shrugged -- well, as much as he could with Hershel in his arms. "Hell if I know. Might take a while."

"He's right. There's too many of them. Alpha would destroy Hilltop to get me back now." Lydia piped up, drawing the group's attention onto her. Daryl looked like he was about to say something that would no doubt be a biting remark of some kind. But then he paused, staring at the hat she now wore in confusion. Glenn noticed it seconds later, and even through the darkness, she could see his eyes widening in a mixture of recognition and surprise. 

"Where'd you get that hat?" Glenn asked hurriedly, taking a step toward Lydia. Behind him, Henry and Connie watched on, clearly confused at the sudden change in subject. Lydia found herself equally as confused. 

"It... it belongs to Delta," Lydia answered, and she watched, utterly baffled, as the blood drained right out of Glenn's face. He turned to Daryl, eyes going as wide as dinner plates.

"That's-"

Daryl cut him off, shaking his head. "I know."

Glenn stared at him in complete shock for a few long moments. Then, she watched as something akin to realization dawn in his eyes. "Holy shit..."

Henry looked between the two in confusion. "I'm... I'm sorry, are we missing something here? It's just a hat." He then looked at Lydia, "do you know what's going on?" 

Lydia shrugged, wishing she did. "No clue."

Connie got up right as Glenn opened his mouth to say more. She looked right at Daryl, making a series of wild hand gestures that Lydia could not understand. Daryl watched her for a few seconds before nodding slowly, hefting his crossbow up as he started following her. "No, she's right. Come on. We gotta go."

"Wait!" Glenn cried out suddenly, and Daryl turned. He pointed his finger at Daryl, eyes narrowing and surprisingly solemn. "You and me are talking later."

"I know," Daryl responded, sighing heavily, almost as if he had expected this response, "but we need'ta get out of here first. Come on." He paused, watching as Connie veered to the right. "It's this way." He said, pointing to the left. 

Connie made another series of hand gestures, face scrunched up in concentration. She motioned toward the right, taking another step in that direction. Daryl stared at her, clearly annoyed.

"Yeah, this way," Daryl said, slower this time, pointing once more to the left. 

Connie pointed at herself in a gesture that Lydia finally began to understand. Connie wanted them to follow her. Lydia took a slow step toward Connie, which made the woman smile, making the same gesture for them to follow her once more before turning on her heel and jogging away into the trees. 

After a moment, Lydia and Henry exchanged looks, shrugged, and ran off after her, Dog at their heels, growling softly. Daryl yelled something to the animal, and she picked up the sound of Glenn laughing as he ran off after them. She glanced back, catching sight of the amused grin on Glenn's face as Daryl finally gave up and followed them. Lydia looked back over at Henry, who had a smile of his own on his face, clearly noticing the same thing. 

Behind them, she could hear Glenn and Daryl begin to argue in hushed whispers but remained unable to discern a single word of it no matter how much she tried to listen in. She could pick up a few words, but none of them made any sense, neither did the reason they were arguing -- over a HAT of all things. That made no sense!

What about Delta's hat had caused Glenn and Daryl to act so weirdly? It was just a hat... wasn't it? She glanced back again, adjusting the hat somewhat before picking up her pace a bit to catch up with Connie and Dog, who were a few feet ahead of her, trying to push her uncertain thoughts to the back of her mind. 

Needless to say, it didn't really work. 

* * *

The small group followed Daryl and Connie as they made their way through an abandoned parking lot of some kind. In front of them was an old, rundown building -- a former apartment complex of some sort, if she had to guess. She doesn't really know. Lydia doesn't remember ever seeing many apartment complexes in her lifetime. The main reason she even has the slightest idea of what it even was is because of Delta, who remembered so much more of the old world than she did.

The mere thought of her friend sent yet another pang of worry and fear coursing through her. Was he okay? Was he even alive? She didn't know, and that scared her more than anything. The thing was, Lydia knew that Delta could take care of himself. He's done it for years at this point, long before she ever met him. But the more irrational part of her -- or the negative part -- couldn't help but worry about him. He had been her only friend for so long, so if something happened to him...

Lydia would never forgive herself. 

She still wished she had enough time to convince him to come with the rest of them. To go with her. But then again, even if they did have the time, Delta was stubborn. Horribly so. Once he had his mind set on something, almost nothing in the world could change his mind about whatever that thing may be. He had been like that for as long as she could remember -- longer probably. The only people who he actually listened to without complaint were Alpha and Beta, and Lydia was pretty sure that was only because those two would kill anyone who disobeyed them.

Due to Lydia being so lost in her thoughts, she almost rammed right into Connie's back. The only reason she didn't was because Henry grabbed her arm at the last second, pulling her back. Lydia sent the boy a small smile, albeit a strained one, which Henry nervously returned. Connie didn't seem to notice the exchange happening behind her and instead turned to look over at Daryl and Glenn, motioning toward the old building -- she then pulled to a stop, making a few more odd gestures. 

Daryl squinted over at the building, "take the high ground," He mused, exchanging looks with Glenn before nodding. "Yeah."

Connie sent the man a grin, pulling her notepad and pen out once more, writing something down quickly. When she finished, she held the paper up for Glenn and Daryl to read. Lydia stepped to the side, squinting at the paper that Connie had written on and trying to figure out what it said. 

Faintly, she still remembered the horrified look on Delta's face a couple years back when he learned she couldn't read -- or at least, not well -- he had then taken it upon himself to find as many books as possible to try and teach her. She still was no expert at it, but she was much better than had been before.

"Choke point?" Lydia said aloud, blinking slowly. What was that supposed to mean? She looked over at Henry, trying to figure out if he had any idea about it at all, but he looked just as confused as she was.

Daryl and Glenn, on the other hand, didn't seem to have that problem at all. In fact, the two of them seemed to understand it pretty much instantly. "Good idea," Daryl said, nodding. "Come on." He started walking toward the building -- Glenn, Connie, and Dog following seconds later -- and after a second of hesitation, Lydia and Henry did the same. 

Henry sped up a bit, moving over slightly so that he was at Daryl's side. "I don't understand..." he said after a moment, looking between Daryl, Connie, and Glenn.

"Oh shit," Glenn turned, giving the blond a sheepish smile, "it's uh," he looked over at Daryl, "you want to explain it? I'm probably just going to mess it up and confuse them more."

Daryl rolled his eyes fondly, clearly having expected this. Briefly, Lydia wondered how long the two men have known each other. She didn't get the chance to wonder about it for long because then, Daryl started to speak: "They use walkers to protect themselves, right?" he looked over at Lydia as he said this part. "So we go up, where the walkers can't go. We separate the living from the dead." He pointed up at the building before letting his arm drop back down to his side, glancing back over at Lydia. "They travel in a herd, bu' there's only like, five or six of 'em in the middle, right?" 

After a second, Lydia gave him a small nod of confirmation, but she couldn't help the flare of worry forming in her gut as she analyzed the plan in her head. It was a good plan, smart too. But there were many problems with it, ones that could end up costing someone here their life. Lydia didn't want that. 

"Yeah, but if we go up there, we're trapped." She pulled to a halt, looking up at Daryl, who turned his body to face her. Around them, the others stopped too. "Alpha's not gonna send a whole army 'cause she doesn't have to... she'll send Beta." Even the mention of the large man sent a spike of fear down her spine, and she swallowed down the lump forming in her throat. Delta might not be scared of the man anymore, but Lydia had never been able to get over her own fear of him. 

Daryl stared at her for a long moment, as if sensing her worry. He then grimaced, "I'm sick o' runnin. This _Beta_ \-- he their best?" It didn't take a genius to understand why he was asking this. Lydia nodded again, her earlier worry becoming more violent as the seconds wore on. Daryl straightened up. "Good. We'll kill 'im first. C'mon."

With that, Daryl started walking again, and after a second, Henry, Connie, and Dog followed. Lydia watched them go, exhaling slowly and forcing herself to follow them. Glenn seemed to sense her hesitance, and he fell into step beside her, giving Lydia a kind smile.

"Hey, we're not going to let them get you. You know that, right? You're safe with us." Lydia crossed her arms and ducked her head, sighing heavily. She appreciated the man's assurances, but she knew perfectly well that they couldn't promise anything yet. 

"Someone's going to die," she said quietly, and Glenn flinched back, looking surprised at her words, "if you keep underestimating my mother like this..." she shook her head, focusing her attention onto her feet. 

"You don't know that," Glenn replied, but she could see the way his arms tightened around Hershel. He was unsettled. "We've dealt with a lot of people like your mother, ones who want to hurt us. It's nothing new. We know how to deal with people like her."

Lydia shook her head again, a sad smile forming on her lips. "No... no, you don't. You haven't met anyone like my mother."

_She'll kill all of you if she gets the chance, and she won't hesitate._

* * *

After banging a rock a couple of times against the door of the old, abandoned building without hearing any of the telltale grunts, snarls, or moans of the dead, Daryl hefted up his crossbow and opened up the door, peering inside with wary eyes. It was too dark to see anything, so he pushed the door open the rest of the way, eyes darting around the room and giving a quick order for everyone to stay behind him. He didn't want anyone to get hurt if he ended up missing something. 

Reaching out, Daryl banged his knuckles against the wall a couple of times, lifting up his crossbow once more. He doesn't hear anything, and he turned to the rest of the group, taking in Lydia and Henry's tired appearances, Connie's thoughtful expression, and Glenn's anxious eyes as his arms tightened around Hershel. He made a motion toward Glenn, and the other man's attention snapped onto him almost instantly.

"Do y'have any of those flashlights? Definitely gonna need 'em." Glenn blinked before turning over to Connie. Adjusting a still sleeping Hershel, he made a series of hand gestures toward her. He must have given Connie the flashlights, then.

Connie dug into the bag she was carrying, tossing one of the flashlights they had brought with them over to Daryl. He reached out an arm and caught it without much trouble, giving the woman a nod of thanks before turning back around and turning the flashlight on with a quiet clicking noise. Light immediately flooded the room, and behind him, he could hear Henry heaving a sigh of relief.

"Make sure you have a weapon with you," Daryl muttered as he began to walk through the building, "don't want'ta be taken by surprise if any walkers are lingering here." _Or any of the living,_ his mind whispered. Daryl made sure to ignore that unwelcomed thought. 

So, flashlight in one hand and his crossbow in the other, the small group made their way through the lower half of the building, keeping an eye out for anything that might help them or try to harm them. It seemed that the place was mostly untouched, however. There were no signs of walkers anywhere in the building. That was a good sign. 

As they went further into the building, Connie made a beeline toward one of the stairwells and headed up without a single ounce of worry. With the way she acted, she obviously was somewhat familiar with the place. Daryl didn't bother heading after her as she disappeared from view. He knew that Connie could take care of herself. She'd probably end up getting annoyed if anyone tried insinuating otherwise. 

The more he looked through the place, the more he began to realize that someone -- someone living -- had been in here before. It didn't take him long to figure out who. Daryl left Henry and Lydia in one of the rooms, ducking into yet another nearby room, his eyes darting around warily. Glenn was the only one with him at this point. Hershel too, but that kid was sleeping like a log. Hershel could fall asleep just about anywhere, no matter the situation; it was something that people always liked to joke about back at Hilltop. 

"So, that's an interesting hat Lydia has," Glenn said conversationally, and Daryl turned, watching as Glenn approached, shutting the door behind him with a faint creaking noise that spoke of old age and misuse. "Wonder where her friend got it. It looks _very_ familiar, you know. Kind of like the one Rick and Carl used to wear." 

"Don't have'ta tell me this shit, I know." Daryl crossed his arms, glancing over to the door and thinking about the stairwell that Connie had disappeared into, wondering if maybe he could make a quick escape and avoid having this, no doubt, horribly awkward conversation for the time being. But he had a feeling that would not be the case. "And I'm assumin' you do too." 

"That was Carl's hat." When Daryl remained quiet, Glenn continued on. "Daryl... Lydia is wearing _Carl's_ hat. Carl, who we haven't seen since the prison. Rick's son, who we had thought had been dead for literal _years!"_

Daryl winced at the reminder, leaning against the wall as Glenn took another step forward. "I know..."

Glenn stared at him for a long few moments, absently running his fingers through Hershel's hair before sighing. Finally, after another few tense seconds, he asked the one question that Daryl had been dreading since he had first seen that hat on Lydia's head. "Delta, that was...” Glenn trailed off, running a hand through his hair. "...he's Carl, isn't he?"

Daryl's silence held all the answers that Glenn needed. The other man let out a whoosh of air, eyes going wide in such a way that made it look as if he could hardly believe that his accusations were true. Which probably was what it was. Daryl would know. He felt the same way when he heard Carl tell Hershel his actual name, even when he already had suspicions about it -- the whole thing just seemed so unbelievable. Still did, really.

Glenn shook his head rapidly, though the shell shocked expression remained on his face. "Fucking christ, man. How... how long have you known?"

Daryl sighed, forcing himself to meet Glenn's eyes. "Since the second day that he and Lydia had been at Hilltop," he admitted, "but he confirmed it right before that bitch came to our gates with Alden and Luke."

Daryl watched as the realization dawned in Glenn's eyes. "That's what you were talking about!" He said with a gasp. "Before I came into the room, that was..." Glenn trailed off, his face going slack suddenly. "Shit, does... does Rick know?"

Slowly, Daryl shook his head, already having prepared for the question. "Was goin' to talk to him later - an' by that I mean when I stop bein' a fuckin' coward and just go and talk to him. But then Hershel and Henry went missing and..." Daryl rubbed a hand over his face, sighing heavily. "It's stupid. It's his fucking son that I just found out is alive after nearly a decade. I should'a told him hours ago!"

"Well... let's be honest, the first thing Rick would have done is go after him and... well," Glenn scratched the back of his neck, exhaling slowly, and Daryl absently noted the red bite mark on Glenn's hand, the one that Carl had left behind. "I can't blame you, Daryl. I really can't. Having to tell someone something like that..." Glenn shook his head, sighing yet again. "Is that why you seemed so guilty after giving them back to Alpha?"

"Was part of it," Daryl mumbled, refusing to meet Glenn's gaze. Instead, he focused his attention on the rest of the room, taking in the broken furniture and dust coating the floor and walls. A part of him wondered how long this place had gone untouched for. Had to have been for years, maybe even since the very beginning of this undead shit.

"Rick needs to know..." Glenn said quietly, breaking Daryl away from his churning thoughts. "He's going to see that hat, Daryl. He's going to see it, and he's going to know. And when he realizes that you knew about this and didn't say anything, he's going to-"

"I know, alright?!" Daryl snapped, whipping his head around to glare at Glenn. "Fucking christ, I know. He's going to hate me for it. I figured out his son was alive and let him go back into danger where he could possibly die. Y'don't have to keep remindin' me of this shit because I already fucking know!"

"Daryl-" Glenn started, a look of guilt passing over his face, but Daryl cut him off, walking forward and shoving past him. He didn't want to hear any more of this -- it would only make him feel like a piece of shit. Actually, scrap that; it would make him feel _more_ like a piece of shit.

"I'm gonna go check on Connie," he muttered, keeping his eyes away from Glenn's face as he began moving out of the room, "we'll talk about this later." 

"Wait!" Glenn spun around, grabbing Daryl by the arm. "Daryl, Rick could never hate you. You're his brother." At Daryl's look of doubt, Glenn sighed. "You remember the bridge, right? The explosion? The days after that, before Rick woke up?"

Daryl stiffened, "How could I forget?" He didn't think it was even possible to forget about that. The days following the bridge explosion had been a couple of the worst days in his entire life -- even worse than the days before the world went to shit -- and that was saying something because those days were pretty fucking bad. 

Glenn gave him a sad smile but continued on regardless. "You gave Rick plenty of reason to be mad at you at the time. You argued with him, disobeyed his orders, planned against him, nearly got him killed, ended up literally scarring him for life..." Daryl scowled at the reminder, but Glenn didn't stop talking, "but he never blamed you for that. Never hated you for a single part of it." 

"That's different," Daryl argued, shaking his head, "Rick's always been like that when it comes to shit like his own wellbeing - this is his son we're talking about, and you and I know better than anyone how much he cares about his kids - his family. When he learns that I kept this hidden from him and sent his kid who, he hasn't seen in _literal fucking years,_ back into danger without trying to stop him..." Daryl paused, tearing his arm out of Glenn's grip and turning away, heart heavy. "We both know he ain't gonna forgive me for it anytime soon."

_Maybe not ever._

* * *

Lydia slammed a hammer she found in the abandoned building down on a nail, embedding it deeper into the wooden board she had pinned to the window. She had little else to do -- with Daryl and Glenn doing who knows what and with Connie being who knows where, she figured she might as well do her part and help secure this place for when Beta inevitably came for her. She doubted it would do much in the long run, but it was better than nothing, she supposed.

"Lydia," she turned at the sound of her name, watching as Henry approached. There was a stick of some kind in his hand, and Lydia's eyes fell to the sharpened tip, and then back to Henry's face. She put down the hammer, turning to face Henry as he pulled to a stop in front of her. Nervously, he started to speak. 

"I, uh, found it in a coat closet," Henry explained sheepishly, holding up the stick for her to take, "sharpened the tip."

The gesture was a kind one, or at least, somewhat. Lydia took a few steps closer to Henry, eyes flitting between his face and the newly made spear. She reached out, her fingers closing around its base. The wood feels firm in her hands, and while she doubted the point would be able to do much damage to anything other than walkers, it felt nice to have a weapon again.

Then, she looked toward the other stick Henry held, looking it over with careful eyes, trying to see if there were any differences. While they both looked quite similar, there was one thing that she couldn't help but notice. "Yours doesn't have a point..." Lydia found herself saying suddenly, gesturing with her empty hand to Henry's weapon. 

She could tell Henry was obviously taken aback by her question, but he ended up answering it nonetheless. "No, I don't need one," Henry said quickly, giving a small shrug of his shoulders as he continued on, "I just thought a spear would be easier for you." 

The realization as to why Henry was giving her this spear washed over Lydia like a tidal wave. Lydia looked between Henry and the spear in her hand, swallowing down the lump that had started forming in her throat, "easier to kill, you mean?" The look on Henry's face said enough to Lydia. 

Lydia wasn't unfamiliar with the concept of killing people. She was used to it at this point. She had seen her mother, Beta, Delta, and many others kill countless amounts of people. She had done it herself quite often as well. A lot of the men in the Whisperers were unwilling to keep their hands to themselves, and seeing as Delta was the only one willing to stop them from hurting her whenever they tried, Lydia had to learn to defend herself quickly. At this point, it was rare that one of the men would try something, but she hated having to kill them every time they grabbed her. 

Not that they didn't deserve it, she just hated having to take people's lives. Delta didn't appear to have the same problem, though. Nor did anyone else in the Whisperers. And Lydia had seen what had happened to the women who weren't able to defend themselves from those kinds of men -- it scared her to know that she would have been in their place if Delta hadn't been so insistent on following her around so much, if he hadn't been there the first time one of them tried. 

Lydia let out a heavy sigh, shaking the unwelcomed thoughts from her head. "These are my people. They've looked out for me for most of my life." Honestly, that was mostly Delta, but Henry didn't need to know that. "What if Delta is there, Henry? He'll have to try and attack me if he wants Alpha to trust him," the mere thought of that happening scared her, and she started shaking her head, hating the way her voice wobbled as she continued speaking, "I just... Sorry. I can't - I can't do it." 

Henry's face softened slightly, "no, it's okay. Then don't," he gave her a nervous smile, the words pouring out quickly as he reached out, taking the spear from Lydia's hands. He turned around, walking toward a nearby pillar and resting the spear against it. Lydia watched as he did this, adjusting Delta's hat, which had fallen in her face while she and Henry were talking -- a little too big for her head. 

"Will you?" It took her a moment to realize what she said. And even then, she's not entirely sure why she's asking. If Henry got attacked when Alpha's search party came, then obviously he would be aiming to kill the person who would be attacking him. It was just plain common sense at this point -- if Lydia was being attacked, then she wouldn't want the person attacking her to remain alive. 

It took Henry a couple of seconds to respond. He seemed to be mulling it over in his head, his eyes not straying from hers -- not even for a second. "I'll try not to," he said finally, and at Lydia's unsure look added, "I promise." 

He turned away, focusing his attention to a nearby desk that was balanced onto its side. Making sure not to hurt himself, he pushed it slightly, careful not to let it fall as he set it right. It made a loud creaking noise followed by a weak thud, and Lydia shifted uncertainly at the noise, watching as Henry picked a nearby chair -- one with wheels -- up off of the ground. "Why are you doing this?"

Henry turned to look at her, his hands dropping away from the chair he had placed on top of the metal desk, "You didn't want to go back, did you?" He asked after a moment, looking confused. Lydia tried not to feel frustrated at this, but she couldn't help it. Henry risked his life for her, as well as Hershel's, and she wanted to know why.

"No, but that - that's no reason for you to risk your life for me," Lydia insisted, crossing her arms, "you could have died, Henry - you almost did. I just... I want to know why." 

"Lydia, you're my friend. Friends help each other, and that includes risking their lives for each other," Henry said, his voice quiet, "I mean, I just wasn't gonna let them take you if you didn't want to go," he paused, shifting slightly, "it was the right thing to do. I just... I just wish I didn't get Hershel dragged into this too."

"Exactly, it was a stupid thing to do," Lydia snapped, letting her frustration get the best of her, "you nearly got yourself and Hershel killed. You made my mother look weak. She won't let this go. She can't." Lydia shook her head, violently combing her fingers through her matted hair -- a habit she picked up from Delta sometime over the past couple of years. 

Henry was quiet for a few seconds, clearly mulling something over in his head. "Then we'll run," at Lydia's confused look, he explained, "I've been thinking about it since last night. We could run away, just the two of us. We can go far away, someplace where your mom wouldn't be able to find us, and they can't even blame Hilltop if we just disappear." 

Lydia stared at him, hardly able to believe what he was saying. While the idea of getting away from Alpha was tempting, she knew all too well how stubborn Alpha could be -- there would be no way that they would be able to lose her trail. And there was no way that Lydia would be willing to leave Delta. He was her best friend, and Lydia wasn't just about to abandon him like that. 

"Run?!" She hissed out after breaking away from her thoughts, narrowing her eyes and staring over at Henry with thinly-veiled disbelief, "are you crazy? There's no place we can go where she won't find us." She let a hint of her own desperation seep into her tone, trying to make Henry realize just how stupid that idea was. How it would only get them killed -- or worse. 

Henry, however, was insistent. "Come on, sure there is." He took a step forward, his voice growing more confident with every word. "Lydia... there's a whole _world_ out there." For a moment, Lydia found herself believing his words. That she could really break away from Alpha's controlling grasp, that she could live her own life after so long of just following her mother's lead. But then reality came crashing back down, and she shook her head.

"I can't leave Delta, Henry..." Lydia said softly, "he's my best friend. My first friend. I can't... he's been by my side for so long, he's..." She trailed off, an image of Delta drifting into her mind -- of his dark brown hair and a deep blue gaze that Lydia often found herself lost in. He had always felt warm and familiar -- secure and safe, even when they first met, he was so much kinder than anyone else had been in a long time. And back at that clearing, when he had been telling her to go, all she wanted to do was cling to him, bury her face into the curve of his neck, and never let go.

She knew that she would never be able to leave him. He meant too much to her. 

Henry didn't look surprised by this response, "I won't lie to you, Lydia. I don't really know Delta at all - but I'm pretty sure that he would want you to be safe. Even if that means being halfway across the country from him - and honestly, I have a feeling he would feed me and everyone else in this building to the walkers if it meant he could stay with you," Lydia couldn't help but snort at this, knowing just how true it was. But then, she found herself frowning again -- this time at Henry's use of the word 'walkers.' It was a term that Delta also used to describe the dead.

She knew it could probably be a coincidence -- people called the guardians many things, so of course the terms are going to spread. But Lydia had a feeling -- albeit a small one -- that the simple spread of terms wasn't the case here. Things just weren't adding up here, and Lydia wanted to know why. But she had a more pressing question bouncing around in the back of her mind, one that could be answered right now. 

"Why did you come for me?" Lydia demanded, her voice barely rising above a whisper. She took a step closer to Henry till their faces were only a few inches away from each other. "For real this time. Tell me why."

"Because," Henry said, his voice nearing the same level as her own, "I care about you."

Before Lydia even realized what she was doing, she stepped even closer to Henry, gently placing her hands on both sides of Henry's jaw and slowly leaning forward, kissing him. Henry inhaled sharply, obviously taken by surprise, but returned the kiss eagerly. His lips were soft, surprisingly so, but before she could really notice anything else, a voice sounded from the doorway.

"Hey," Lydia jumped back, her head whipping around to find the source of the voice. Daryl stood in the doorway, watching the two of them through narrowed eyes. "come on, we're headed up to keep watch."

Lydia's face went red, and after a quick glance toward Henry, she saw his was too. "Yeah. Sure," Henry said hurriedly, grabbing his stick and starting toward the archer. After a moment's hesitation, Lydia followed him, her thoughts drifting back to the kiss she and Henry had shared moments before. 

It had felt nice. But no matter how nice the kiss may or may not have been, Lydia found her thoughts wandering back to Delta -- to his dark hair, blue eyes, the faint freckles that dusted his nose... Back to the way he would comfort her when she was upset, to the way he would jump in to take any punishment that her mother directed her way, to the sarcastic quips that he often muttered under his breath when no one else was around but Lydia. 

She wondered if his lips were soft too.

* * *

Birds were chirping somewhere in the distance, and Lydia found herself envious of their carefree nature -- how they lived their lives as they had before, as if the dead hadn't come back to life at all. But they were animals, and animals adapt. Much better than Lydia ever could -- much better than any human ever could. 

Lydia watched as a cluster of crows hopped around on the ground, nipping at the supposed bugs on the cracked pavement and even each other occasionally if one got too close. One of them neared a guardian corpse lying dead on the ground, beginning to peck at the thing's rotted skin. Lydia tore her eyes away from the scene, letting them wander up to the treetops that surrounded the large building. Another thing about animals -- they could eat almost anything, no matter how gross it may or may not be.

The world was surprisingly peaceful for the time being, Lydia found herself noticing, but she already knew that it wouldn't be staying that way for long. Once Beta came, it would be back to total chaos. It always did when it came to him.

The faint tapping of fingers against metal caught her attention, and Lydia spared a quick glance over her shoulder, her eyes finding Henry's from where he was stationed on the other side of the balcony the two of them now stood on. Upon realizing she was looking at him, he gave Lydia a small smile, and Lydia couldn't help but return the gesture -- her mind wandering back to the kiss they shared a few hours before.

Henry's smile turned wider, and he shifted, returning his gaze back out to the area surrounding the building, trying to keep watch as Glenn said they should. After a few seconds, he glanced back up at Lydia again before quickly returning his eyes back over to the road below. Lydia let herself do the same, wanting to do her best to help out, but then her eyes landed on something in the distance, and the smile fell from her face in a matter of seconds. 

Guardians were beginning to stumble out from the trees, their low growls filling the otherwise silent world. At first glance, she could only see the guardians, but it didn't take her long at all to spot a Whisperer walking among them. "There!" She hissed out, immediately catching Henry's attention. He was at her side in seconds, peering over her shoulder to get a closer look at the group of guardians -- more of which were stumbling out by the second.

_One... two..._ Lydia's eyes darted around the group, trying to figure out how many Whisperer's her mother had sent after her. She prayed with every fiber of her being that Delta wasn't there, but from this angle, it was hard to tell who was who. Her heart froze as her gaze finally settled on the largest of them all, a black trench coat draped over his shoulders like a cape. 

"They're coming," she whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof... another chapter! I started writing it, had a mental breakdown, and then finished it...
> 
> Hope you enjoy!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... um...
> 
> this chapter is long... like... really long.
> 
> I really have no way to explain myself...
> 
> I apologize if this chapter is shittier than others, I only edited it with Grammarly and google docs because there is no way in hell that I am going through this and editing this monster any other way. I usually rewrite it and deal with errors that way... but yeah no way. 
> 
> This chapter is like 14,000 words long, I am not rewriting this.
> 
> Also, I have a question for you all. I've been thinking and I was wondering whether I should split this story into parts. Originally I was planning on having A Long Way Home be one story that goes from season 9 to 11. But now I've been wondering if I should split it into parts with this being the first one, season 10 being the second one, and season 11 being the last one. Please tell me what you think.

**Before this chapter actually starts, I just want to tell you that this chapter includes torture, a shit ton of fighting, and mentions of rape. If you haven't noticed before, you will see that I have added some tags and upped the rating to Mature because this chapter definitely warrants it. I understand that some of you may not like that kind of thing, so I will put warnings on the part where it comes and a summary of it when the scene ends.**

**If you have any questions, please put them into the comments and I will answer them the best that I can.** ****

* * *

_ "Where the hell is she?"  _

Carl, from where he sat in the dirt tending to another pack member's wounds, flinched at the raw anger radiating from Alpha's voice. A couple of others near him did the same, ducking their heads and trying to seem as small as possible, none of them wanting to attract the angry woman's attention onto them. Alpha rarely ever spoke using a loud voice -- she always talked in such a quiet tone, which usually scared Carl so much more than when people yelled -- but when Alpha got angry enough to yell... well, that meant shit was about to hit the fan.

Alpha was  _ pissed. _

Carl swallowed nervously, finishing up with wrapping a makeshift gauze around a large cut on a pack member's arm and nervously tugging at the bottom of his mask -- which he had put back on as he neared the camp. He had managed to sneak back into their walker-filled-camp right as the chaos was coming to an end. And while he had done it without anyone noticing him, his heart continued to roar like thunder in his chest, the adrenaline and disbelief from what he did mere hours before still coursing through him. 

He had  _ betrayed  _ Alpha.

No one did something like that and managed to get away with their life. And Carl had always been loyal to her -- never had he questioned her decisions, never had he disobeyed her, Carl did what was asked of him no matter how much he may or may not like it. Maybe it was because he had been too scared to even think about betraying her before, but now... What changed? What made him turn his back without even thinking about it on the one who he had been blindly loyal to for so long?

Carl didn't know why he was asking himself this -- he already knew.

The atmosphere in the camp was tense and silent, and no one seemed to want to break that silence anytime soon, not that he could blame them -- but Alpha wasn't going to take that silence for an answer. She glared around, her eyes landing on Carl. He felt his heart freeze as she stormed right up to him, grabbing him by the arm in a bone-breaking grip and yanking him up to his feet. Carl stumbled as she shoved him into the middle of the clearing, putting hundreds of eyes onto him, but he managed to keep on his feet despite that. 

"Delta, you had the younger boy with you. Where is he now?!" Carl inhaled sharply at the question, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants as he looked over at Alpha. He met her gaze through the mask, not letting an ounce of fear seep show in them. Carl knew better than to cower in a moment like this one; if he showed even the slightest hint of fear or disloyalty, Alpha wouldn't hesitate in killing him. She hated all signs of weakness -- especially in her own pack. 

"I put him down a few minutes before the guardians got into camp," Carl explained in a quiet voice, willing himself to keep the pounding in his heart to a minimum. "My guess is that either he ran off, the guardians got him, or the older boy took him and ran while everyone was distracted." He scrambled through his racing thoughts, trying desperately to come up with a convincing lie. God, he couldn't believe he was actually doing this.  _ Lying _ to Alpha! "I lost sight of Lydia during the attack. I don't know where she went."

"Is that so?" Alpha took a step forward, putting her hands behind her back as she began walking in circles around him. Carl swallowed heavily, nodding jerkily and tensing up as Alpha walked into his blind side. "You saw nothing else?"

"No, I didn't see anything else," Carl said, "although I do have an idea of where Lydia might have gone." There was a brief pause, and Alpha appeared back in his sight, staring up at him through narrowed eyes. "She liked the boy, Alpha. The blond one. I told her to forget him - that he was weak - but I don't think she listened." Carl sent a mental apology to Lydia and Henry as he spoke, knowing he was only putting Alpha's attention onto them, but Carl had to do this if he wanted Alpha to believe him. "I believe she might have used the guardians to her advantage and left with the boy while everyone was distracted."

Alpha remained silent for a few long moments, staring at Carl before turning to look over at Beta, who had approached the two of them sometime during the last few minutes. There was blood dripping from the man's hands, Carl noticed fleetingly, but pretty much everyone had blood somewhere on them at this point -- either belonging to the walker's or themself.

"Beta?" Alpha peered up at the giant of a man, who tilted his head, thinking for a couple of seconds before starting to speak.

"I believe that Delta might be right," Beta said slowly, crossing his arms over his chest, "Lydia had never liked our ways. I wouldn't be too surprised if she decided to leave, and you saw how she reacted upon being told to kill the boy - she was  _ crying."  _ He practically spat the last word out, disgust coating his tone, "Lydia cares about that boy, Alpha. She left the pack for him. She betrayed us."

Alpha remained deathly quiet for another few moments. Then, she turned back to look at Carl, eyes narrowing as she looked him up and down. "I am disappointed in you, Delta," she says slowly, and for a second, Carl's heart seems to freeze in his chest, "your failure to keep an eye on my daughter and our prisoners will not go unpunished. Remove your mask." 

Inwardly, Carl found himself cringing at her orders -- he had been hoping to avoid something like this. Even though he knew perfectly well that Alpha hadn't ordered anyone, including him, to watch Lydia, Henry, or Hershel, he knew better than to protest. So, despite his reluctance, Carl did as asked. Slowly lifting the walker mask from his head and letting his hair fall down into his face. After a moment, Carl tilted his head, brushing a long strand of hair away from his eye and tucking it behind his ear. He forced his gaze to return back over to Alpha, willing his face to remain in a neutral expression as to not betray even a hint of what he was currently feeling. 

Alpha stared at him for a few tense seconds before leaning down, fingers skimming the leafy ground before picking a long stick up from the dirt. Carl took in a deep breath, slowly rolling the sleeve of his right arm and holding it out to Alpha, and briefly, his gaze skimmed over the countless lash marks that he had received over the years, and he watched as Alpha straightened back up, preparing to add even more scars to the collection. Carl braced himself as she held up the stick. 

_ WHAP! _

She brought the stick down harshly, carefully watching Carl's expression for any signs of emotion as a bright red mark appeared on the pale skin of his arm, immediately starting to ooze with blood. Knowing better than to cry out, Carl simply ground his teeth together, jaw clenching as he used every ounce of willpower he had to keep his face completely blank -- perfectly aware of the countless eyes now watching him.

Satisfied with his lack of response, Alpha brought the stick down again.

_ WHAP! _

Another red mark. It started to bleed, and it stung, but Carl forced himself not to react.

_ WHAP! _

More blood slowly started trickling down from his arm, dripping into the leaves below.

_ WHAP! _

Carl couldn't hold back a small flinch at this one, but the expression on his face remained entirely blank.

Alpha smiled.

_ WHAP! _

Alpha let her hand fall back down to her side, the stick dropping out of her grasp. She stepped forward, gently taking Carl's arm in her hands. She peered down at the newly made marks, each of them oozing with blood, before nodding to herself and looking back up at him. "You have always been loyal," she said after a moment, "don't let Lydia's disappearance ever stop you from being that." She rolled his sleeves back over the four new scars on his arm, reaching out and patting him on the cheek before turning away to face the rest of the pack.

Her eyes drifted over each of them, and she started to move, slowly circling the area: "my daughter is not going to be getting away with this. She is going to come back to us, whether she wants to or not." Immediately, low muttering started around the camp, all of them curious about what Alpha meant. A feeling of dread formed in the pit of Carl's stomach, and he backed up, pulling his mask back over his head as Alpha turned to Beta, crossing her arms. "Beta, I want you and a few others to track Lydia. Bring her back to me and kill anyone else who may be with her." 

Carl felt his stomach drop.

_ Oh shit. _

The pack fell dead silent at her words, and one brave (or stupid) soul decided to call out: "isn't that against the rules?" A few murmurs of agreement sounded at the voice's words, all of them thinking along the exact same lines as the first. Alpha turned her head in the direction of the chatter, tilting her head and lifting a brow.

The murmurs immediately fell silent.

Alpha huffed, circling around slowly. "You think I don't realize that it is against the rules? I made them if any of you happened to forget." She pointed to herself, glaring around at the pack as if waiting for someone who might be stupid enough to protest to her words. No one did. "But Lydia is going to pay the price for what she has done." Carl felt his throat close up at these words, suddenly realizing just how much danger Lydia and the rest were now in. 

Alpha turned back to Beta. "You have a trail, correct?"

"We do," Beta confirmed, straightening up upon being addressed by Alpha, who nodded, a satisfied look crossing her face.

"Good," Alpha looked around, taking in the pack now huddled around her. She gestured to three of them: "Sigma, Alan, Dan - I want you all to go with him. Beta can choose the rest. You all leave in the morning." The three who she had pointed at stood up upon being addressed. And Carl found himself taking a step forward, heart racing.

"Alpha, wouldn't it be smart if I were to go with them, too?" Alpha paused, turning to look at him. She was quiet, staring at him before giving him a once-over. She appeared to think about it for a couple of moments before slowly shaking her head. 

"While you are one of our best trackers, I believe it would be better for you to stay here," she said, and Carl nodded, dipping his head and taking a step back -- knowing better than to object. Alpha then took yet another look around. "Everyone else, get rid of our dead. If they have changed, add them to the herd. Dismissed." 

And with that, she stalked off to who knows where. Carl watched as the pack began to bustle around, his heart heavy as he absently rubbed at the still stinging cuts on his arm.  _ You better know what you're doing, Daryl,  _ he found himself thinking as his gaze swept over the now quiet camp,  _ because things just got a  _ **_whole_ ** _ lot harder. _

* * *

**WARNING! WARNING: TORTURE AND SEXUAL ASSAULT MENTIONS LIE AHEAD. If you do not wish to read this, and I won't blame you if you do, I will put a summary at the end of the scene telling you what happened. And for those who are reading this scene... I'm sorry...**

* * *

Carl dragged yet another walker into the gradually growing pile of dead bodies nearing the edge of camp before turning back around and grabbing another nearby corpse to put into the heap. Usually, they would leave their dead for the walkers to eat, but they would probably end up dumping these ones into a ditch or something. They weren't fresh enough to catch the walker's attention, so they would have to dispose of them some other way. Carl hoped it didn't require dragging the corpses around some more because some of these walkers were pretty damn heavy.

Two other Whisperers were currently helping him with this specific pile. One of them was a newer member while the other one Carl recognized from around camp -- an older (and larger) man named David who had been around for quite some time, having become a Whisperer a few weeks before Carl had, though he had no clue if that was his actual name or not. Not that he really cared. As long as they followed orders and didn't do anything stupid, they could call themselves whatever the hell they pleased.

But David didn't seem to have that same mindset -- the older man kept giving Carl these dark glares through his mask every few seconds. Something that David did quite often whenever Carl was around. According to Lydia, David really hated Carl for being in such a high position of power despite the fact that he was 'older' and 'wiser' than Carl was. Apparently, in David's eyes, because Carl had been only a kid when he had taken the title of Delta, that, for some reason, made him less worthy of it.

Yeah, Carl didn't really understand the logic of it all. Alpha only let those who she deemed worthy become Gamma, Delta, or some other position of power, that and he had been around seventeen-ish when he became Delta -- could that really be counted as a kid? Either way, it was always kind of entertaining to see the way David seethed whenever Carl gave him an order. 

Oh, sue him. He didn't get a lot of entertainment around here. 

It had been at least an hour or two since Beta and his group had gone off to go and track down Lydia, and while Carl's stomach turned into a messy pile of nerves every time he thought about it, he found that he couldn't stop thinking about it. He knew that Daryl was a smart man and would do anything he could to keep everyone safe, but Beta was persistent, cunning, calculating, and would stop at nothing to get what he wanted -- he showed no mercy. Carl didn't know what Daryl and Glenn were like anymore, and he had no idea if they would be able to fight Beta and his group off. 

So he tried his best not to think about it. 

He hauled another dead body into the pile, stepping back as the other two did the same. Carl glanced around, taking in the area around them. There weren't many bodies around anymore. Most of them had been gathered up with only a few exceptions. A lot of the pack were now waiting around for orders from Alpha on where to put them. Carl looked back at the pile he and the other two Whisperers had gathered, nodding to himself.

"I'll go find Alpha, see where she wants us to put these," he mused, not really addressing anyone in particular. He saw a few nearby Whisperers nod, so he turned, prepared to go off and find Alpha when Carl heard David hiss something under his breath. 

"You know, I can't believe that Alpha actually let you remain as Delta." Carl stopped in his tracks at the words, looking back to stare at David, who was now staring at Carl with thinly veiled hatred and glee in his eyes. The man took a step forward, and Carl turned his body around to face him, crossing his arms and raising a brow. 

"I'm sorry, you didn't actually just say what I think you did, right?" Carl said slowly, keeping his voice quiet. He could feel the eyes of the Whisperers around them on both him and David, but he ignored it in favor of continuing on. "Because I could have sworn you just said I wasn't worthy of being Delta, that you believe Alpha is wrong. But I must be hearing things wrong because surely your not stupid enough to say something like that and expect to live. Or are you?"

The man bristled, dark eyes flashing dangerously beneath his mask, "you know perfectly well what I am saying." When Carl didn't respond to this, the man let out a huff of laughter. "In fact, I mean exactly that. I do not believe you are worthy of being Delta, and I believe Alpha is wrong in letting you keep the title. She should have just left you behind." 

Carl raised a brow, appearing nonchalant though his fingers started inching toward the hunting knife attached to his belt, his muscles tensing up as he prepared for an attack. "Oh? Is that so?" He inquired after a moment. Carl had a pretty damn good idea about where the fucker was going with this, but he wanted to wait and see what David might say next.

And, as expected, the man only plowed on, stalking close to Carl, who remained in place; his expression not changing. "Ever since you first showed up, you've been causing problem after problem. You are young, stupid, and naïve. You are not  _ worthy _ of being Delta," the man's words only grew angrier by the second, and he straightened up to his full height in what was, without a doubt, an attempt to intimidate Carl into submission -- but honestly, the chances of that happening were entirely nonexistent. "I am older, wiser, and I know how this world works better than you do. I have been a Whisperer longer than you have, and yet Alpha still chose  _ you  _ instead of  _ me  _ to be Delta."

Carl tilted his head back, a bark of laughter escaping his lips -- startling the crowd of Whisperers that had gradually started forming around them if the way a few of them jumped said anything about it. "And yet you are only saying this now instead of six years ago. It's almost like you're afraid of me or somethin."

David visibly recoiled back in shock, further proving Carl's words, and Carl doesn't bother stifling the maniac-like grin that spreads over his face. Still, the older man didn't seem to want to stop anytime soon. "That's because I believed you wouldn't last a day among us, especially as Delta," he growled, stepping closer to Carl and getting into his space -- Carl still refused to budge. "I thought you would be taken down by someone so much stronger than you or get eaten by the guardians. But you never did." The loathing oozed out of the man in waves, his words growing more bitter and more angry by the second. "You know, I should have done something so much sooner. I was going to, actually, but then you got captured, and I realized I didn't even need to. But then, Alpha brought you back."

"And what are you planning on doing about this?" Carl asked quietly, letting a hint of humor seep into his tone -- the question was rhetorical, obviously. Carl knew perfectly well what was about to happen. And after all the shit that's happened in the past few days, the more insane and bloodthirsty part of Carl found himself looking forward to it. 

"I'm planning on doing what I should have done the moment Beta brought you to us. I am going to take my rightful place as Delta." Giving the man a quick onceover, Carl could immediately pinpoint a few weaknesses in his stance. He lazily pulled his knife out from its holster, letting the sound of the blade against its sheath bounce around the trees. He grinned at the look of uncertainty this caused in David. This fight would be an easy one. 

"You... you really think you can be Delta?" Carl leaned back onto the balls of his feet, a low chuckle bubbling at his lips as he took a step backward, slowly beginning to circle the man, twirling his knife around in his fingers as a way of intimidation. "Oh,  _ please,  _ you wouldn't be able to handle the responsibility that being Delta brings." 

The man's body shook with rage, and Carl knew the words that were about to leave his mouth long before he said them. "I know that you can't. So I challenge you." 

Fucking  _ finally,  _ this guy had seriously been taking forever to get to the point. "Challenge me?" Carl snorted, pulling to a stop as the man got into a fighting stance. "Oh, how  _ adorable! _ You actually think you'll be able to beat me? That you will actually be able to become the new Delta? Fine then," Carl took a step forward, smirking from underneath his mask as David immediately went as stiff as a board, freezing for a moment before reaching for his own knife. "Attack me. Show me what you got. But know I will not hesitate in killing you."

Carl raised his knife up, getting into a fight stance of his own. Looking at David now, it wasn't all that hard to pinpoint the weak areas in the way that the man held himself in. David was a large man, much taller than Carl but nowhere near Beta's height, but it was easy to tell that this man relied more on strength than he did anything else. Carl wouldn't be able to physically overpower him. He would have to resort to speed and quick thinking instead. Carl didn't really get to notice anything else because then, David let out a shout of anger, his gaze turning straight up murderous as he started forward, charging right at Carl, knife raised and prepared to strike. 

Carl jumped out of the way of his attack instantly, ducking under David's swinging arms and managing to make a cut in the large man's side -- it's a small one, not meant to seriously injure anyone, but Carl didn't want to kill him just yet, he wanted to have some fun first. He danced away just as David spun around, swinging his own knife at the area where Carl's head had been moments before. Carl grinned gleefully, and with a swift, sudden movement, Carl darted back over at David, slashing viciously at the man's right arm before leaping out of the way as David swung his knife over at Carl once more, missing him by mere inches. 

"Come on, big guy, that all you got?" Carl taunted, circling around the man as adrenaline pumped through his system. "I've fought walkers stronger than this." David snarled -- like, actually snarled -- before rushing over at Carl, lifting his knife. The sound caught Carl off guard for a second, which gave David enough time to slash at his face. Carl jumped out of the way before the man could do anything else, grunting in pain as blood started to trickle from his face. He lifted up a hand, feeling the new cut that David had made on Carl's nose -- having somehow gotten through his mask. The wound stung, and Carl sighed.  _ That's probably gonna leave a mark. _

"Dude, seriously? It's almost like you're not even trying," Carl drawled, dodging out of the way of yet another one of David's attacks. Carl leaped forward before David could turn around, plunging his knife into the man's arm and kicking him in the side as hard as he could. The older man swore, crying out in pain as Carl ripped the knife out. He fell to his knees, hand moving to the stab wound, and, not about to give the man a chance to get up, Carl stepped behind him, grabbing the injured arm now oozing with blood and twisting it behind David's back in a move that he had seen Beta use various times over the past few years.

David cried out again, and Carl grinned from under his mask when he heard a faint popping noise that told Carl he had managed to dislocate the man's arm. Carl grabbed his other arm, quickly twisting it around just as he had with the other one and using his grip to smash David's torso onto the ground, quickly digging his knees into David's back to help hold him down. The man cried out in pain, beginning to struggle against Carl's weight. Despite being so much larger than Carl, David is unable to get the younger man to budge. Carl, almost lazily, pressed his fingers into the stab wound, digging his nails in as deep as possible as David's struggling grew more and more frantic. Carl clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, the grin not leaving his face as he took a firm hold on the man's hair with his other hand and yanked his head up, forcing David to look at him. 

"Honestly, this is just  _ sad,"  _ Carl said, his voice dripping with faux-disappointment, "I expected better, man. I really did. You could have at  _ least _ made this a little more fun for me." 

"You-" Carl dug his fingers a little deeper into the stab wound as David began to speak, "-you won't be able to protect her forever, you know." Confused, Carl stared down at David, the grin disappearing from his face when he took in the almost gleeful smile on David's face from beneath the mask. Still, his grip on David doesn't loosen. If anything, it only tightens. "Lydia, you care for her. But Beta is going to bring her back, and that little bitch is going to get just what she deserves."

Carl felt his blood run cold, and any possible sympathy he may have once had for the man -- which was very little -- disappeared within seconds. David seemed to sense the confusion his words caused within Carl, for he let out a harsh bark of laughter, his expression turning to one of pure delight. "You know," the man said, his smile widening, "I hope Alpha lets a couple of us have our fun with her before she kills her. She's a pretty one - I bet she tastes like heaven." 

The realization slammed into Carl like a hurricane.

Oh.

Oh, he did  _ not  _ just go there.

Carl stared down at David coldly, twirling his knife in between his fingers as a morbid idea came to mind. Carl reached out, tearing the mask right off of David's face, rolling the man onto his back, and driving his knee into the man's stomach in one quick movement. David wasn't smiling now as he took in the way Carl practically shook with anger. Carl leaned in slowly, pressing his knife to the man's cheek, whispering into his ear.

"You know, I was considering killing you quickly... but now?" Carl dug the knife in a little deeper. "I think I've reconsidered."

With a nasty grin on his face, Carl took one of the man's hands, pinning it down above the man's head. With one broad swing, he slammed his knife into the man's palm, sending it right through into the other side. The large blade slid in easily, with only a little bit more resistance than if Carl were killing yet another walker. He pushed it in deeper and deeper, ignoring David's flailing as he used the knife to pin David's hand to the ground, stopping him from trying to push Carl off. Carl can feel the man making a grab at him with his other hand, but his movements are frantic and weak, and Carl put a stop to it quickly, grabbing the man's other hand and unsheathing another knife from his belt, quickly doing the same thing.

David let out a scream, his struggling intensifying as blood oozes out from his hands. There was no more smugness or anger on David's face, only panic, pain, and fear -- this only caused Carl's grin to turn even broader, a sense of satisfaction washing over him as he motioned for a nearby Whisperer to hand him their knife. They oblige, knowing better than not to, and Carl brandished the large hunting knife he had been given in front of David's face, relishing in the look of terror that it brought. He looked up at Carl, pleading with him to change his mind, but Carl didn't even hear him.

"There are many things you could say or do about me that I wouldn't give a damn about," Carl said slowly in a quiet voice so only David could hear, staring down at the man with a narrowed eye, "you could insult me, hurt me, torture me, and I wouldn't give a fuck. But Lydia? You don't talk about her. You don't even LOOK at her. I don't care if she isn't one of us anymore - you don't lay a single fucking hand on her. You remember what I did to the last men who tried that, don't you?" Judging by the fearful expression that crossed over David's face, he remembered pretty well what had happened.

"Please... I didn't mean it. I promise I won't try anything like this again... please! I'm sorry!" The words pour out from the man repeatedly like a broken record, his pleading falling on deaf ears. Carl glanced up briefly, and he met the eyes of Alpha, who had, at some point, made her way over during the fight. Knowing perfectly well that she wasn't about to interrupt, Carl leaned in, murmuring into the man's ear as he twirled the knife around in his hand and pressing the edge of the blade along the flesh surrounding the man's eyesocket.

"Your apology is  _ not  _ accepted." 

A second later, Carl dug the blade forward, deep into David's eye.

The man let out a blood-curdling scream, but this only urged Carl on. He felt the blood splatter onto his face, and even then, he didn't stop. He just dug in deeper and deeper, relishing in the pained screams he drew out from the man squirming beneath him. He had no doubt that there was now a psychotic grin on Carl's face right now, but he found that he didn't even give a damn.

The crowd surrounding the two remain silent, watching on with blank stares as Carl dug the knife deeper into David's eye. The man was struggling and screaming and flailing around helplessly, but this only made Carl go in deeper, knowing that with the knives pinning the man in place, David was totally unable to do a damn thing. Still, it took Carl a little longer than he'd like to get the eyeball out, and he'd been digging around for around five to ten seconds before the eye finally popped out, rolling onto the dirt beside the man's face with a disgusting squelch.

"Well, aren't you putting up quite a show," Carl remarked with a false cheerfulness in his tone, peering down at David with a predatory grin covering his face, "just so you know, buddy, we aren't even halfway done yet." He made sure to say this last part louder so the rest of the crowd could hear, wanting them to see just what would happen if another one of them dared to challenge him. 

As soon as he said these final words, Carl lifted the knife he held back up before bringing it down again and plunging it right into the man's remaining eye without an ounce of sympathy.

Another scream escaped from the man. David's struggling was much weaker now -- probably from the bloodloss -- which made it much easier to get the second eye popping out. It rolled out as well, and Carl made a clicking noise, climbing up to his feet as he stared down at David expressionlessly. Then he walked around the man, kneeling down to where his right hand was pinned to the ground by his knife. Any nearby walkers were probably on their way at this very moment -- it's a good thing that they're near the edge of the camp instead of right in the middle, or else Alpha would have made Carl kill the man by now. 

Carl wrapped his fingers around the man's right wrist, slowly scraping his knife around the man's thumb, letting the blade sink in a little bit, but not enough to draw blood. The man's pleas grew more and more desperate, but Carl didn't pay them any attention. Simply staring down at the man's now bloody face before looking up, his gaze sweeping across the crowd.

"This," Carl began slowly, raising his voice a tad so everyone could hear him, "is what happens when one of you tries to challenge me."

Carl pressed his knife down.

David let out another blood-curdling scream.

The thumb fell to the ground, detached from the man's hand. Carl moved his knife to the next finger, bringing the blade down again before moving to the middle finger. 

He brought the knife down again.

And again.

And again.

Carl leaned back, watching with disinterest as the blood seeped out of the man's fingers, or in the place where the fingers once were. Carl clambered up to his feet, giving the man a hard kick in the side before leaning down, ripping his knife out of the man's palm without a trace of gentleness. He quickly did the same with the other, stepping back right as the low snarling of walkers made themselves heard. A few of them emerge from the trees, and Carl turned his back to David, walking away as the man's pathetic whimpering turned back to screams as the dead descended onto him, teeth ripping into his flesh. 

The crowd quickly started to disperse as the man's screaming quieted, all practically leaping out of Carl's way as he made his way back into the middle of camp. If Carl were a couple years younger, he knew perfectly well how horrified he would have been at what he had just done, but right now, Carl couldn't bring himself to muster up even the slightest hint of regret for the horrible fate that had been given to the man. Not after what he said about Lydia. 

Carl spared a quick glance back, watching numbly as the walkers tore into their meal. With a faint smile, Carl turned away, heading in the direction of a nearby river to wash the blood off of him.

_ I win.  _

* * *

**END OF MATURE SCENE: for those who didn't read, Carl got challenged by a whisperer and the guy made a sexual comment about Lydia. Carl goes a little berserk and cuts the guy's eyes out and cuts five of his fingers off. Walkers appear and Carl leaves the guy to be finished off by them.**

* * *

Lydia and Henry don't waste a second after spotting the mini herd of guardians with Whisperers hiding inside -- she grabbed his hand, pulling him back before Beta could notice any of them and rushing inside the building. They find Daryl, Glenn, and Connie boarding up the windows in a nearby room, Hershel now wide awake and humming cheerfully from where he sat on the floor, playing with two dusty figurines that had not been there before. Glenn or Daryl must have found them while looking around the place.

There's a thick tension hanging around when they rush inside the room -- mostly between Daryl and Glenn. It's one that had definitely been there before, but not nearly as bad as it was now. Glenn kept glancing over at Daryl every few seconds, his face twisted into an expression of guilt and worry while the archer kept his back turned to his friend, perfectly content with ignoring him. Usually, Lydia would try to ask around to figure out what was going on, but she had more pressing things on her mind at the moment.

"Hi Lydia, Hi Henry!" Hershel called out cheerfully, waving at them. Henry gave the boy a half-hearted wave and a sheepish smile while Daryl and Glenn spun around almost immediately. Daryl took a step forward, gaze flitting between the two teens. He locked eyes with Lydia, his face hardening as he took in the expression on her face.

"They're here?" He asked, and Lydia gave a small nod, unsurprised he had figured it out so quickly. He reminded her of Delta a little bit. Always able to tell what was going on within a person's mind. Daryl swore, lifting up his crossbow from where he had rested it on the wall and striding out the door and onto the balcony. Lydia made a move to follow him, but Connie shot up to her feet within seconds, grabbing her arm and giving a little shake of her head. 

Glenn scooped Hershel up into his arms, ignoring his son's yelp of protest as the two figurines he had been playing with dropped to the ground. "Are you sure that it's them?" He's looking to Henry as he said this, and the blond nodded, his lips thinning. Glenn let out a whoosh of air, turning back around to face Lydia and Connie. "We need to finish up on these fortifications. We may not be able to stop those fuckers from getting inside this building, but we can sure as hell make navigating it a lot harder than it should be." 

"Swear," Hershel called out, frowning at his father, "Mom says we aren't supposed to swear."

Lydia found herself flinching back at the boy's words, remembering all too well what would happen whenever she had tried something like that. A brief lashing if she was lucky, but if not... then she would usually end up with a shit ton of bruises and maybe a broken bone or two. Surely Hershel knew that talking to adults like that would only hold similar results?

Her gaze slowly moved over to Glenn's face, half-expecting to see some kind of enraged look at his son's words -- one like the one that her mom often got whenever Lydia used to make remarks like that -- and was surprised to see the sheepish smile that spread over the man's face. Followed by a look of fondness and love.

Staring at the father and son, Lydia couldn't help but feel jealous.

"I'm an adult; I'm allowed to swear," Glenn responded after a second or two, hefting Hershel up in his arms slightly. He said something else, but Lydia's attention was pulled away when she felt a hand landing on her shoulder. Lydia turned her head, confused, and found herself looking over at Connie, who smiled at her comfortingly -- as if sensing her inner turmoil -- and patting Lydia's arm, her eyes warm and kind.

She forced herself to smile back at the woman despite the troubling thoughts whirling around in her head. Lydia tried her best to push them -- especially the ones about her mother -- back, turning around to help Henry move a nearby table. Delta always told her that she thought too much.  _ Not that it's necessarily a bad thing,  _ she remembered him saying, grinning down at her when she had asked,  _ but sometimes it just causes a shit ton of unwarranted stress, and I don't know about you, but we already are stressed enough in this hellhole of a world. _

She missed him.

A lot.

She wondered where he was now. If he was among the group that Beta had brought with him or not. A part of her hoped that he was -- merely so she could see his face again. To see if he was okay or not. But another part of her was terrified of that being a possibility. She wasn't afraid of him -- never was and never would be. Lydia knew that he would rather die than hurt her, but that was what was scaring her. She didn't want him to get hurt because of her. 

She didn't want anyone to get hurt because of her.

Stepping back as Henry righted a table against one of the windows, Lydia reached up a hand, fingers tracing the rim of Delta's hat. She took in a deep breath, adjusting it slightly and crossing her arms.  _ My dad gave it to me sometime during the beginning of all this --  _ Lydia remembered him telling her that a couple years back. She also remembered the sad expression that had crossed over his face seconds later.

_ Is he dead too?  _ That was what she had asked. 

Delta had looked down at her, his face twisting into an unsure expression as he considered her question.  _ Yeah... yeah, he is,  _ he had said sadly before motioning to his hat --  _ I guess that's why I keep this old thing. I don't have anything else left to remember him by. Sometimes... sometimes I can't even remember what his voice sounded like.  _ She remembered hearing the way his voice cracked as he told her this, recalled seeing the heartbroken expression on his face. She remembered understanding and not understanding all at the same time. 

_ Why am I even thinking about this?  _ Lydia sighed -- she seemed to be doing a lot of that lately -- and turned her gaze over to Glenn, who was now helping Connie board up the windows some more. Hershel was sitting at his feet, a bored expression on his face. She couldn't help but envy the young boy -- she couldn't remember ever being that carefree at his age or having her mom ever look down at her with such love, care, and adoration like Glenn did with Hershel.

Lydia's attention was pulled out of her churning thoughts when the door creaked open, and Daryl stepped inside. "All right," the archer said gruffly, closing the door behind him as his gaze swept over the small group, "they're here. Let's go." Daryl then turned, picking up a fallen plank of wood and tossing it over to Glenn, who caught it with a surprising amount of ease, sending a grin toward Daryl as he turned, getting to work on covering the windows.

Connie and Henry followed Glenn's example and started to board up the rest of the windows, using whatever supplies they could find in the dark room to get the job done. The room got darker and darker as they worked, and Lydia stood to the side, watching nervously and wondering if she should be doing the same as the other three. She looked up as Daryl turned on a flashlight, bathing the room in light. He looked around the room -- his eyes narrowed as he took it all in.

Suddenly, Daryl directed the flashlight toward her face, a little bit downward and away from her eyes -- to which she was thankful. "Hey," he said after a second, "you're with me."

_ What's that supposed to mean?  _ Lydia pondered, but she didn't dare argue. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Henry turn his head slightly, obviously hearing Daryl's order, and before she knew what she was doing, Lydia strode forward, pulling Henry's head toward her and planting a kiss on the blond's cheek. She gave him a strained smile before turning back around and running after Daryl, who she noticed now had a very solemn looking Hershel in his arms. 

He gave her a small nod when she moved toward him, turning around and heading toward the plastic sheets hanging from the ceiling a few feet away. He ducked under them, his dog trotting at his feet, and after a moment, Lydia followed the man, hugging her arms to her chest and frowning as the sheets pulled at her hair.

Daryl didn't take her and Hershel that far away. He seemed to know where he was going, though. He led Lydia over to the far side of the room where a large door stood. Putting Hershel down, Daryl pulled the door open, shining his light inside. When Lydia poked her head over his shoulder to look, she realized it was a closet. Lydia blinked stupidly, confusion bubbling up inside her. 

_ Why would he bring me to a closet? _

Daryl put his hand on Hershel's back, giving the little boy a gentle push. Hershel seemed to know what Daryl was asking of him, for he walked inside the closet before turning around and grinning up at the man, who gave Hershel a small smile of his own in return. Lydia felt the realization crash upon her immediately and turned her head to glare at Daryl, who seemed to sense her stare, making a quick motion at her to step inside.

"Go ahead. Get in," the archer ordered, stepping to the side so that Lydia could walk in.

Lydia crossed her arms and shook her head. "No, no way. You are not putting me in a closet for this."

"I am, actually," Daryl returned, his voice slightly snappish, "so c'mon, get in." He gestured toward the inside again, his movements jerkier than before. He was getting frustrated.

"I want to help," Lydia snapped.

"How you gonna help if you ain't gonna fight?" Daryl shot back, clearly not about to back down. "No, you'll just get in the way. Go," he gestured to the closet again, his voice growing louder, "get in!"

When Lydia didn't move, he sighed. 

"Jesus Christ, you're just as stubborn as Carl is," Daryl muttered under his breath, and at the mention of Delta's real name, Lydia felt her eyes widen in surprise. How did Daryl know Delta's real name? 

"How do you know his name?!" She demanded, stepping forward into his face. "Did he tell you!?" Lydia honestly couldn't see that being a possibility. Delta didn't just give his name out to strangers willingly. The only reason that Lydia knew what it was because she knew him before he gained the title of Delta, and even then, she didn't call him by it all that often.

"Can we have this conversation later?!" Daryl growled, looking on the verge of just throwing Lydia into the closet himself. "You're acting like a child. More so than the actual one," he nodded to Hershel, who was watching the interaction before him curiously, "now get inside the goddamn closet unless you want me to tell your friend how you got yourself killed."

Still glaring at Daryl, Lydia finally did as asked, reluctantly stepping inside the closet. Daryl actually looked relieved at this before glancing behind him. "Dog," Daryl called, gesturing for the German Shepherd to go inside as well. The animal sat down at Lydia's feet, and she stared in surprise as Hershel let out a delighted squeal, throwing his arms around the animal's neck and giggling as Dog turned and started licking the boy's face. Daryl watched on with amusement before clearing his throat, drawing Lydia's attention back over to him. "Anybody comes through this door, he'll take 'em down. If that happens, you take Hershel and run." 

At the sound of his name, Hershel looked up at Daryl but was quickly distracted once again as Dog butted his head into his stomach playfully. Daryl sighed heavily, holding out the flashlight for Lydia as he finished speaking, and she took it without complaint. "Stay quiet - that means you, Hershel." The boy flushed red in the darkness but nodded. Satisfied with his response, Daryl started to close the door. 

"Wait." Daryl stopped as Lydia called out. He stared at her questioningly, and Lydia forced herself to swallow down the lump in her throat. "Thank you." She didn't know what exactly she was thanking him for. For saving her and Henry from her mom, for bringing her along even if he didn't have to... She didn't know, but she knew that she had to thank him. 

Daryl looked at her for a short few moments before shutting the door. She stepped away from the door, listening as the rattling of keys sounded from outside. She heard the lock click, and she sighed, her heart heavy. Lydia turned, pressing her back to the door and sliding to the ground, hugging her legs to her chest. Delta's hat nearly slipped off her head, but she caught it at the last moment, adjusting it slightly. 

"Lydia?" Hershel whispered into the darkness after a minute or two, and she looked up, peering at the boy curiously. "Can... can I have the flashlight?" There was a hint of nervousness in his voice as he said this. "I don't like the dark..."

Not seeing any harm in doing so, Lydia agreed, reaching out and letting the boy take it from her hands. "Just don't flash it in my eyes." Hershel nodded, pressing his nose into Dog's fur and sighing quietly.

After a few more seconds of silence, Lydia found herself reaching up, pulling Delta's hat from her head, and staring down at it blankly, her thumb brushing over the old fabric. Slowly, Lydia hugged the hat to her chest before pressing her nose against the top of it and taking in the familiar smell of leather, forest, and faint cigarette smoke that Delta usually emitted. Even when the two of them reeked of death after walking among the guardians, there would always be that scent lingering on Delta's clothes. One that Lydia grew to love over the years. 

She just hoped that today wouldn't be the last time she'd ever smell it.

* * *

The Whisperers almost always set up their camps near a water source of some kind -- a river, lake, stream, it didn't matter as long as there was water -- and this one wasn't any different. After asking one of the women in the pack -- mostly because a good third of the men in this pack were dicks and Carl really didn't want to deal with any more shit right now -- Carl quickly learned that the nearest river was around a mile away from the camp. Not that long of a walk, twenty minutes at most. 

So Carl picked up his bag and decided to head over to the river to wash up. Not a bath (though he  _ definitely  _ needed one, he smelled like shit), but Carl would really like to wash all of this blood off of him before it dried and got all gross and itchy. Now that he thought about it should probably try and clean up his hair a bit too. But that could wait a little bit longer. Plus, it would only end up getting tangled again later, so cleaning it honestly held no use. 

Carl crept through the trees for around fifteen or so minutes before he was finally able to hear the rushing water somewhere nearby. Heaving a faint sigh of relief, Carl forced himself to go a little faster, ducking under a low hanging branch and emerging into a small-ish clearing. There was a flowing river in the middle of it, and Carl approached it slowly, glancing around and checking for any signs of walkers or people around him. Finding none, Carl sat down on a nearby boulder at the river's edge, putting his bag in his lap and watching as the occasional fish swam by. 

After a couple minutes of this, Carl reaches up, untying the mask from the back of his head, pulling it off slowly and taking in a deep breath as the breeze hit his face. Carl tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear, tugging his gloves and jacket off and putting them into his bag, left in his pants and a baggy gray shirt. Blood covered his fingertips, but Carl found his gaze drifting down to the series of burns covering his left arm and then to the thin, white scar he had created. Carl always forgot how disgusting these scars made him feel whenever looking at them, and it only reminded him of why he kept them covered as much as possible.

Carl just wished he could do the same for the ones on his face. Or, more specifically, his eye. 

Carl stared down at his reflection in the river, disgust churning inside him. Not even realizing what he was doing, Carl let one of his hands wander up to his head -- brushing his hair aside -- his fingers moving across the scar tissue under his eye, a pale red color that never failed to make people recoil at the sight of it. Even he couldn't stand looking at it for long. 

Carl hated having his eye -- or lack of one -- visible to others and only really felt comfortable with it while his mask was on. But Alpha had forbidden him from covering it up with an eyepatch or bandages once it had healed enough to ensure there would be no infection, saying that covering it would be 'weak' of him. Her exact words had been something along the lines of him using his injury to intimidate others instead of hiding it, and while it did a damn good job at intimidating enemies, Carl still hated it. 

The burn on his face didn't bother him nearly as much. Mainly because it wasn't really that big -- a little smaller than the palm of Lydia's hand. Hell, none of his other scars bothered him as much as his eye did. Maybe except for the one he created -- the smallest of them all, ironically. That one would always fill him with anger and shame no matter how much time had passed.

It seemed he only was adding more and more scars to his vast collection.

The lash marks on his arm barely even hurt at this point. They had stopped bleeding a while ago, so Carl didn't really look at them much. The one that David gave him was the one that caught his attention. The cut covering his face was long -- going from the middle of his nose down the left side of his face to the area a few inches above his mouth. It stung, but it's not as deep as he first thought it would be, thankfully. Stitches wouldn't be needed, probably. It didn't even look bad enough to scar, but even if it did, Carl wouldn't really care -- it's the least of his worries at this rate.

Carl dipped his hands into the water, hissing at the cool temperature, but relieved to see the blood already being washed off his hands. The rustling of leaves behind him quickly caught Carl's attention, and he froze, tensing up as his wet hand immediately darted over to his knife. Lifting his head, Carl glanced behind him, relaxing somewhat when he saw Alpha emerging from the treeline, no mask on her face. She stared at him for a few long moments, eyes blank as she looked him up and down. Her eyes landed on the bleeding cut on his nose, and she made a faint huffing noise.

"He cut you." The way she said it told him that it wasn't a question. So Carl nodded, gaze darting between the river and Alpha, wondering what his leader was even doing here. He didn't dare ask, though.

"He did." Carl glanced down at his gloves and then his wrist, reaching out and pulling them back on. "I should've moved out of the way faster."

"You should've," Alpha agreed, striding forward. Carl tensed up again as she neared, turning his head back toward the river, "but he paid the price in the end." The woman sat down next to him, and Carl, now more than a little confused, glanced up at her, eyebrows furrowing.

Slowly, Carl nodded. "He did." Carl watched her out of the corner of his eye, wondering what exactly was going on. Alpha had seen him kill David, she knew that he won, and usually she didn't care beyond that. So what was Alpha even doing over here? Because Carl doubted that she was here for small talk.

"Let me see the cut, Delta." Even more confused but knowing better than to argue with Alpha, he obliged, tilting his head in her direction and flinching in surprise when she grabbed him by the chin to hold him in place, her fingers digging into his skin. Alpha lifted her other hand, and Carl bit back a grimace as she reached out, wiping the blood from his face and causing the wound to throb. She stared at it for a few long moments, face blank, before nodding slowly. "It won't need stitches. The knife barely touched you." 

Carl nodded, having known this already. "I was going to clean it," he said quietly, "I don't want it getting infected."

She was silent for a few long moments before nodding. "Good. It would be a waste if you were to die of infection." Alpha let go of him, reaching into the pockets of her pants and pulling out an old-looking cloth -- she then leaned down, dipping the fabric into the water and holding it there. Carl shifted uncertainly, glancing toward the forest behind him as Alpha did that. What the hell was going on here? He stared at her in confusion before quickly averting his gaze down to his lap as she turned around, holding the dripping cloth up as she grabbed his chin again. 

"Hold still," she ordered as he flinched back. Carl did as asked, trying his best to hide his confusion. Was Alpha seriously going to clean the cut for him? It wasn't even that bad, and Carl could easily do it himself. Plus, this was horribly out of character for Alpha -- she  _ never  _ helped when one of her people had an injury. Even when Carl had first gotten the burns on his face, shoulder, and arm a couple years back, it had been Lydia who had helped clean them. Alpha hadn't given a damn. She didn't even care whenever Lydia got injured -- hell, she was the one hurting her half the time!

Carl let out a surprised hiss when Alpha pressed the cloth to his nose, starting to wipe away the blood oozing out. "I haven't gotten the chance to talk to you about the community you and Lydia were held at," she said after a moment or two, "I talked to her when we were going back to camp, but I believe she may have been lying to me." Carl felt the realization dawn upon him almost instantly. Alpha was only doing this so she could get information about Hilltop. That made so much more sense. He felt some of the tension seep out of his shoulders. 

"I didn't see as much as Lydia did," Carl told her after a second, his mind whirling as he wondered how much information to give her. He settled on a half-truth -- it would be easier than straight-up lying to Alpha. "They trusted her more, which is understandable, seeing as I nearly took a chunk out of their leader's hand-" Alpha huffed at this, looking somewhat amused. Carl took this as a sign to keep going "-they kept me in a separate room the first night before bringing me down to the cellar sometime after. They put a bag over my head, so I wasn't able to see anything."

Alpha tossed the now bloody cloth to the side, her eyes swiveling back toward him. "What did you learn about them in your time there? What kind of weapons do they have? Are there any other communities?" Alpha leaned forward onto her knees, her patience clearly starting to wear thin.

"They seem to prefer soundless weapons - like the man with the crossbow - but a couple of them definitely had guns," Carl told her, keeping his voice stable, "I overheard the boy - the blond one - say something about one other community. I don't know if there are any others." He sent an internal apology to Daryl as he said this, but Alpha would have found out about this other community eventually. She always did. So there was really no use in hiding it. "No matter how many there are, I can tell that these people are weak. They believed they were strong, but they aren't," Carl scratched at an itch on his arm, his voice getting louder and more confident with every word, "the people are lying to themselves, living their lives as if everything was how it used to be. But it isn't. They're wrong."

As Carl spoke, he found himself wondering just how much of his words were lies. He had sworn off of communities after what happened at the prison -- they always ended in disaster -- they made people weak and helpless and dependent on others. He remembered stumbling across a community a couple months after the prison and remembered just standing there outside it -- listening to the chatter and laughter going on within the walls. Carl had considered going inside but ultimately chose not to, and that was a good thing too, for three days later, the community had been ravaged by raiders.

"And the boy?" Alpha inquired, and while it took Carl a moment, he was quickly able to discern which one she was talking about. 

Carl forced himself to appear calm, shrugging his shoulders as he heaved a small sigh. "Lydia took a liking to him during the time that we were in that community. I don't know why. He's naive - stupid. The only reason that he came after us was because he was thinking with his dick. Not because he cared for Lydia."

Alpha looked both amused and curious at this. "And yet Lydia went with him willingly?"

"It seems like it. But I might be wrong," Carl watched as Alpha's eyes narrowed, and he hurriedly continued on, "Alpha, Lydia is a smart girl, and she managed to gain those people's trust in a matter of days. And I believe she might have gone with them because she knows that the boy is gonna insist on bringing her back to the community. Or maybe another one." Carl knew that this wasn't the case, but he needed to make sure Lydia would have a chance at living if she ended up being caught by Beta. But that required some heavy bullshitting on his part. "Right now, it might seem like she's left us, but we don't know that for sure. She might come back, and if she does, she could have more information about those people. Information that could help us."

Alpha stared at Carl for a few long moments, clearly considering his words. After around thirty seconds, a slow, unsettling smile formed on her face. She glanced back at the trees in the direction of the camp before looking back at Carl, reaching out and patting him on the shoulder.

You might be onto something, Delta. Thank you." In an almost unheard-of show of affection, Alpha leaned over, brushing her lips against his forehead. Carl felt his eye go wide, confusion and surprise flowing through him. 

Did she just-

She just-

The fuck?

Climbing back up to her feet, Alpha brushed the dirt off of her pants, turning and starting to head back in the direction of the camp. When she reached the trees, she glanced over her shoulder to look at Delta, who stared at her wide-eyed, his thoughts going a mile a minute in his head. 

"I suggest you don't take long out here." She said after a moment, and then she disappeared into the trees, leaving Carl in a state of befuddlement. 

What the  _ fuck  _ just happened?

* * *

Daryl stood, crossbow raised, behind yet another pair of plastic curtains in the large building, a decent distance away from the double doors that the skin people would end up coming through. Glenn was stationed somewhere to the left, his gun out as he aimed it at the door, waiting for the enemies to burst inside so he could strike. Daryl's heart thundered loudly in his chest as he stood there waiting, a mix of tension and uncertainty hanging in the air. 

He glanced over at Glenn, who gave him a small nod when he caught his eye. They had to put their earlier conversation behind them for the time being, or else they wouldn't be getting out of this building alive. They had to focus on fighting -- and that was something Daryl had always been good at. Just fight and hope he would make it to the next morning.

Then, the door flew open with a bang.

_ It's time. _

A gunshot rang out in the air at the same exact moment that Daryl fired his bow. Glenn's shot ended up hitting his target, and the body of one of the skin's hit the ground, but Daryl's bolt embedded itself into what appeared to be a table or a door that had been ripped from its hinges. Whatever it was, it was being carried by a mammoth of a man that Daryl could only assume was the Beta that Lydia had warned him of. The son of a bitch was huge.

Cursing under his breath, Daryl flipped a table to block himself from view before taking off to the right. A loud thud followed as Beta dropped his shield, running off after either him or Glenn. He hoped it wasn't Glenn. His friend may be a good fighter, but he was also a fucking twig. Especially compared to that Beta guy. Briefly, Daryl wondered if Carl knew Beta. If they were both high in command, then Daryl wouldn't be all that surprised if that was the case. 

Daryl darted through the room as fast as he could manage, throwing his bow over onto his back as he ran between the countless white tarps that hung down from the ceiling. Daryl stopped in an area mostly surrounded by the sheets, tossing his bow down to the ground and lifting up a large fire axe that had been leaning on the wall. He turned back around, breath catching in his throat as one of the skin fuckers made their way over to where he was. He could hear their footsteps, and he could see their shadow against the tarp as they reached up, prepared to bring it down. 

_ Hope you've said your prayers, asshole. _

Sucking in a deep breath, Daryl swung the axe, burying it deep into the bastard's chest. Blood splattered onto the white tarp, and the bastard gurgled and screamed. Daryl let go of the axe, watching without a single shred of remorse as the fucker fell, taking the now blood-stained tarp with him. Not bothering to check whether he was alive or not -- if he was, it would only be a matter of time before he bled out -- Daryl pulled out his hunting knife, peeking his head around the corner as he raised the blade, preparing for another attack.

He hoped that Glenn was okay, wherever he was. 

* * *

Lydia could hardly breathe.

It felt like a large snake had wrapped itself around her chest, making it harder and harder to breathe as it's grip grew tighter and tighter around her. The blood pounded like thunder in her ears, drowning out the sounds of fighting going on outside the closet. Her heart beat so fast that she was surprised it didn't burst out of her chest. Her hands shook, not stopping even as she dug her fingers into Dog's soft fur. Her eyes darted around the closet frantically -- searching. But for what, she didn't know. 

Dog had begun to growl, baring his teeth as a gunshot sounded somewhere nearby, followed by a series of crashes and thuds that caused Lydia to flinch back into the wall. Hershel had pressed himself into her side, his green eyes wide with terror as he stared at the locked door, cringing every time a loud noise rang out. In most cases, she would protest at the way that he clung to her, but at the moment, she found that she couldn't care less. 

Lydia clutched Delta's hat to her chest, trying to draw some kind of comfort from it as she took in a series of ragged and shaky breaths that shook her small frame. Breathing became a challenge, and her knuckles had turned white from how tightly she was holding the hat.  _ In and out...  _ she told herself in an attempt to push away her panic, _ it's okay... you're okay... just breathe... _

A loud bang sounded somewhere nearby, and she heard Hershel let out a low whimper, digging his fingers into Lydia's arm so hard that his nails dug into her skin. He clenched the flashlight in his other hand, so tightly that she was surprised he didn't break it. Breathing was getting harder. Really hard. As if she'd just run fifty miles without any kind of break.

Hershel sniffled, flinching back as someone shouted, and Lydia could only sit there, her chest growing tighter and tighter as bile rose up in her throat. She needed to stay calm. Beta wouldn't find her -- Daryl would make sure of that. But he didn't know Beta -- didn't understand just how dangerous the man could be. Lydia felt the terror rise higher in her chest at the thought of the giant of a man, knowing just what would happen to her if he ended up finding her.

Lydia put Delta's hat on her head, wishing that he was here with her. The air in the closet was dull and musty, with tension and terror hanging above her and Hershel like a noose, practically suffocating her. 

Lydia couldn't stay here any longer. She just couldn't.

"What... what are you doing?!" Hershel asked as Lydia clambered up to her feet, snatching the flashlight right out of his hand as she moved. His voice was frantic -- terrified and filled with confusion. He stared after her with a wide-eyed expression, getting up a second or two later as Lydia started going through the various containers scattered around the closet, directing the flashlight's beam inside and trying to find something that could help her out. 

"I'm not staying in here," Lydia responded, her voice shaky. She pulled open a drawer, cursing under her breath and shutting it when she found nothing inside.

She watched as Hershel's eyes widened with a mix of confusion and horror. "But Daryl said we had to until the bad people are gone." Hershel stumbled forward, staring at Lydia as she opened what looked like an old cooler of some kind with nothing inside, "it's dangerous!"

Dog let out one particularly thunderous growl as if agreeing with Hershel, keeping his eyes pinned to the door as his teeth gleamed dangerously. "I know what he said, Hershel. But I can't... I don't..." Lydia shook her head, forcing herself to take in a deep breath as she leaned up onto her tippy toes to reach another dusty box. Nothing. 

She checked another one -- still nothing.

She checked one near her feet -- once again, nothing.

Lydia felt herself losing hope -- come on... there had to be something in here to help her get out of this godforsaken closet! Her eyes landed on an old, metal toolbox, and she rushed toward it, yanking it open and sighing in relief when she realized it wasn't empty. She reached inside, pulling out what could be a crowbar or some kind of building object. Whatever it may or may not be, it was just what she needed to get herself out of here. 

"Stay in here. Don't come out unless someone you know comes to get you," Lydia ordered Hershel, giving him the flashlight back. She moved toward the door, taking a deep breath and wedging one end of the object into the crack in the door before _ pushing _ with all the strength she had _.  _ The door creaked from the strain, and Lydia urged herself to work harder. _ Just a little more... _

"You're leaving me?!" Hershel cried out from behind her, and when she glanced over her shoulder, she saw the look of utter terror that crossed his face.

Lydia shook her head, her heart giving a small squeeze. "If you go out there, you'll be in danger. You're safe in here. Just stay quiet until the bad people are all gone, okay?" 

Hershel looked like he wanted to protest, but he nodded nonetheless. "Okay..." 

Lydia felt the relief wash over her in a wave. She turned her attention back over to the door, her grip tightening around the handle of the object she was holding as she tried pushing on it harder. She could hear a fight going on somewhere nearby, and her heart jumped high into her throat when she heard a familiar voice cry out in pain. 

_ Henry. _

Gritting her teeth and using every last bit of strength she had in her, Lydia pushed even harder, crying out in surprise and relief when the door swung open with a crack. Not wasting a second, Lydia ran forward, closing the door behind her. Dog rushed ahead of them, snarling as he turned a corner. She heard someone cry out seconds later as Dog's snarling grew louder in volume. 

After doing a quick glance around, Lydia turned back around to relock the closet door before running off in the direction Dog had gone. Adrenaline and fear flowed through her, spurring her on as she rounded the corner just in time to see Connie drive a knife into the back of one of her old pack members. Lydia tried not to recoil at the sight. Instead, she turned towards Henry, who she now realized was also in the room. The blond was leaning on some old filing cabinets and clutching at his leg. Blood seeped through his fingers, and as she took in his pained expression, she practically fell down to her knees beside him, her mind racing as she stared down at the wound. It was a stab wound. Not the worst thing in the world, but still dangerous.

"Lydia?" Henry breathed out, turning to stare at her with wide eyes. Relief tainted his voice, but then his gaze flickered over to the dead body of the Whisperer Connie had killed, and immediately he started to stammer out apologies. "Lydia, I'm sorry. I-I tried not to kill anyone, but I-I don't know - I think..." 

Lydia cut him off with a shake of her head, simply relieved to see one of her friends still alive. Were they friends? "No, no, no. It's okay - it's okay. I'm so sorry." They were both breathing heavily, eyes flickering between each other and the dead body on the ground. Lydia felt her throat begin to close up as her hands began to tremble. "I hate this," she choked out, her voice strained. She hated this all so much.

She hated that she had to leave Delta behind. Hated that her mother was so insistent on keeping her with the pack. Hated that she was putting so many people here in danger. She hated it all so fucking much. She just wanted -- Lydia didn't know what she wanted. But she knew that it wasn't this. It was never this. 

Henry seemed to pick up on this, and he reached out, taking her hand and giving it a small yet comforting squeeze. "Yeah, yeah, me too." 

They both looked up at the sound of footsteps, and Lydia tensed up as Connie kneeled down beside them, staring at Henry's leg with worried brown eyes. She shined the flashlight on the wound, observing it carefully. Henry trembled, squeezing Lydia's hand tighter, obviously in pain as he struggled to catch his breath. Connie pursed her lips, and Lydia didn't think she'd ever felt so helpless until this very moment. She knew pretty much nothing about medicine and healing. Delta was the one who usually healed her cuts and other injuries. He would probably have some idea on how to help Henry.

Not for the first time, Lydia found herself wishing that he were here.

* * *

_ Did that fucker just run through a wall?! _

That was the first thought that went through Daryl's head as Beta came (more like crashed) into view. But he didn't get much time to ponder about it as the giant of a man charged forward, lifting Daryl up with a horrifying amount of ease and slamming him into a nearby wall. Daryl grunted as he crashed onto the floor, struggling to regain his bearings as Beta crouched down beside him, unsheathing a large knife in front of his face.

"The girl-" the large man growled, voice low and his eyes glittering dangerously from behind the mask "-where is she?"

Instead of responding, Daryl quickly darted to the side, fingers curling around a long plank of wood and climbing back up to his feet. He held it above his shoulders, glaring over at Beta, who now stood across from him, knife raised. After a second, Daryl swung the piece of wood with all his might, trying to get a hit, but Beta grabbed the plank before it could touch him before using it to pull Daryl toward him. Beta swung his knife at him, but Daryl ducked under it, feeling the air from the blade whoosh by his head. 

Taking out his own two knives from his belt, Daryl got into a fighting position, staring at Beta through slitted eyes as he prepared for the next attack. Beta dropped the plank of wood, pulling out another large blade from his pocket as he too got into a fighting stance. The knives look similar to the ones Carl had on him; Daryl couldn't help but notice, but he pushed that thought away pretty quickly, eyeing the shining blades warily. 

Daryl swung at Beta again, only for the man to dodge it and take his own swing at Daryl. Once again, Daryl ducked under it. Beta seemed to expect this, and he made another swing at Daryl, who blocked it with his own knife. Practically snarling now, Beta took swing after swing at Daryl, all of which he managed to dodge, retaliating with his own series of attacks. None of them managed to hit, and Beta shoved him back before giving Daryl a hard kick to the stomach.

All the air seemed to leave his lungs as Daryl fell to the ground, but he didn't waste a second in climbing back up. The moment he got to his feet, Daryl started toward Beta again, who responded by delivering another hard kick to Daryl's side, making him fall right onto his ass. He started scrambling backward, trying to put some distance between the two of them, but Beta strode forward before he made it very far, dragging Daryl up to his feet by the shirt and yanking him toward a saw blade that Daryl only just realized was there.

_ Shit.  _

Daryl's hands shot out as Beta shoved him toward the table, only just managing to keep his neck from being impaled. But barely. Beta was so much stronger than he first expected. Now he understood why Lydia had seemed so terrified of the man. Beta kept putting more pressure onto Daryl's head, trying to force him down onto the blade. Daryl fought back as much as he could, not wanting to give Beta the satisfaction, but he could steadily feel himself beginning to lose the battle. 

Daryl squeezed his eyes shut, his mind immediately wandering to Beth. Of her soft blonde hair and kind blue eyes. He never deserved someone like her. Now he'll probably never get the chance to see her again. And Anne... a shudder ran down Daryl's spine, and he felt his heart leap into his throat.

He could feel the tip of the blade against his neck now. Beta leaned in, growling into Daryl's ear. "Where is she?" 

"Find out for yourself, asshole!" Daryl didn't think he'd ever been so relieved to hear Glenn's voice in his life. Beta's head snapped in the direction of the other man's voice right as a heavy plank of wood came crashing down on his head. Of course Glenn chose a fucking piece of wood. But Daryl wasn't complaining. 

Beta stumbled back, clutching his head as a series of curses escaped his lips. Glenn swung at the large man again, sending Beta crashing into a bunch of glass and nails. Daryl used this time to distance himself from the saw blade that had nearly ended his life moments before, shoving Glenn out of the way as Beta lunged forward. Beta snarled, punching Daryl right across the face before hauling him up by the vest and slamming him into another wall. 

Daryl gritted his teeth, trying to push the large man away with little success. But in the corner of his eye, Daryl saw Glenn leap forward, preparing to come to Daryl's aid, only to be shoved back as Beta whirled around, throwing Daryl to the ground and kicking Glenn in the stomach. Glenn crashed onto the floor with a loud cry, and Beta gave him another hard kick before turning back around to face Daryl. He strode forward, attempting to stomp on him, but Daryl managed to roll away at the last second, pulling a switchblade from one of the pockets in his vest and spinning around to stab Beta in the chest. 

Beta stumbled back with a hiss, but otherwise, the knife didn't seem to do much, for Beta was still able to backhand Daryl hard enough that his body went crashing through the drywall.  _ Fucking hell, what is this guy even made out of?  _

He could hear Beta fighting to get his way through the drywall, and, thinking fast, Daryl crawled forward. He recognized this room -- it was the one that Connie had shown him earlier. And if he's remembering things correctly... Daryl moved a piece of plywood to the side, relief rushing through him when it revealed a hole in the floor.  _ Thank fuck for small miracles _ , he found himself thinking, crawling into the hole and pulling the plywood back over its opening. 

Seconds later, he heard a crash, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps somewhere above him. Adrenaline pumping, Daryl slowly moving the piece of plywood from the opening and carefully poking his head out of his hiding spot right as Beta began to speak. "You and your people are nothing to me. Your world is already dead," the man growled, and Daryl watched as Beta started taking slow steps toward a tarp with a tear down its center. That's where he probably thought Daryl was hiding.  _ Jokes on him,  _ Daryl thought, slowly hefting himself out of the hole in the floor. 

Beta had just about reached the tarp and was mumbling some more bullshit that he couldn't care less about. Daryl didn't have much time left, so he took in a deep breath, gritting his teeth before promptly starting to charge at Beta, who had finally seemed to realize where Daryl really was.

The large man turned around a little too late. Daryl slammed into him, and Beta, having not expected the attack, went with little resistance, falling through the tarp and down the elevator shaft. Daryl leaned forward just as he heard Beta crash to the bottom, spitting a wad of blood out of his mouth moments later out of spite. Daryl then turned around, wiping a hand across his forehead and pausing when he noticed Glenn standing in the doorway. 

"You okay?" Daryl asked, taking a step forward and eyeing his friend with concern. Glenn had an arm wrapped around his stomach as he leaned on a wall, obviously struggling to stand on his own.

"I think that bastard broke a rib," Glenn said through gritted teeth, "what about you?"

"Just bruised," Daryl responded, striding forward. He made a motion for Glenn to lift his shirt, and, wincing, his friend obliged. Daryl peered at Glenn's ribcage with a frown. There was a bruise starting to form, and, looking closer, Daryl could see more forming on his side. He grimaced before straightening back up. 

"Don't think he broke it..." Daryl said after a second or two, "but I'm no doctor. Can y'walk?" 

"Kind of," Glenn took a step forward, hissing in pain and trembling slightly. Sighing, Daryl grabbed his friend by the arm, looping it around his shoulder.

"Come on, the sooner we get out of here, the better." Glenn grimaced but nodded as Daryl began to move, pausing to pick up his crossbow as they headed toward the stairs. As they made their way down, Daryl's mind wandered over to Carl.

_ Kid better know what he's doing,  _ Daryl thought grimly. Carl was a smart kid, and Daryl knew that he had gotten smarter over the years, but if something happened to him because Daryl didn't bring him with them...

Forget Rick ever forgiving him -- Daryl didn't think he'd ever forgive himself either. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another long chapter. Tell me what you think!

After Alpha's interrogation, Carl had returned back to camp, his mind spinning even more than it had been before -- Alpha rarely ever showed any kind of affection to anyone other than Lydia, and even that was rare. A part of Carl used to wonder if she even knew what that meant, so after being subjected to that... whatever that had been back at the river, Carl found himself worrying a hundred times more than he originally had been: about Lydia, about Hershel, about Daryl, about Glenn, about his dad... Pretty much about everything. Earlier had only reminded him of how unpredictable Alpha could be, therefore how dangerous she was, and that left Carl feeling many things, mainly unsettled. 

He hated feeling unsettled, hated feeling uneasy or nervous or worried or anxious or unsure -- it made him feel like he wasn't in control of his own thoughts or actions. Almost like the slightest wrong move could release an avalanche of horrible consequences. And not only on Carl but on Lydia, his dad, Daryl, Glenn, Hershel... pretty much everyone he knew or cared about, and that was not a very good feeling at all.

But Carl knew that worrying about things that may or may not happen wouldn't make his life any better -- it would only make things worse for him, really. So a few hours later, he found himself sitting by the base of a tree near the spot where he had killed David, wiping the slowly drying blood from the blades of his knives to keep his mind from wandering too far. While Carl knew that they were only going to get dirty again in a few short hours, he preferred keeping his weapons as clean as possible to prevent them from rusting and eventually breaking. Carl didn't need them falling apart while in the middle of a fight. 

Carl had just about finished up with his last knife when a small commotion from somewhere nearby quickly grabbed his attention, drawing him away from the task at hand. Carl frowned, trying to focus on the knife he was cleaning, but in the end, he found that he couldn't. Carl sighed in defeat, looking up in annoyance right as one of his people approached the tree he sat at, her hands fidgeting as she came to a stop in front of him. 

Carl raised a brow in question, wondering what could possibly be important enough for this. The one who approached him looked uneasy as she eyed the numerous blades on Carl's lap before clearing her throat as she began to speak. "Beta has returned, but he's all alone," the woman said quietly so only he could hear, and Carl stilled as he processed her words, his one blue eye narrowing dangerously from beneath his mask.

"The rest of his group isn't with him?" asked Carl, shoving down his surprise and fear. He sheathed his knives quickly before climbing up to his feet. He didn't dare let himself get his hopes up, but at the same time, had Daryl and Glenn really managed to keep Lydia safe? Were they okay? Were they alive? He had so many questions whirling around within his mind, but he knew that most of them wouldn't be answered anytime soon. Or maybe not at all.

The woman shook her head nervously. "No... they're not." Carl nodded, mulling over this new information, unsure on whether he should feel relieved or worried. 

"Does Alpha know," he asked, and after a second, the woman shook her head again. Carl sighed, crossing his arms, "find her and tell her that Beta has returned, and if you want to keep your head attached to your body, I suggest you don't mention to her that he's alone unless she asks." The woman nodded rapidly, and Carl watched as she dashed off to go find Alpha, slightly amused at the panic in her movements. He knew perfectly well that it was kind of fucked up to be entertained at someone else's terror, but he couldn't help it -- though that woman probably should get her act together before Alpha or Beta killed her for being so twitchy all the time. It always sucked to see the newbies being killed off because of something as insignificant as that. 

Not that Carl would ever say anything about it to anyone but Lydia. He liked having his head attached to the rest of his body, thank you very much.

After a moment, Carl moved his gaze away from the panicked woman -- instead turning in the direction where the commotion had first started. A group of around fifteen to twenty people was huddled around something, so Carl could only assume that was where Beta's located -- Carl stayed in his spot, not moving an inch: just waiting. Carl knew that Beta probably wouldn't like being hounded by people like that, so moving was unnecessary, and he was proved right when, seconds later, Beta shouldered his way through the crowd, shoving multiple people to the ground in his annoyance. 

_They should have known better than to crowd him,_ Carl thought as he eyed the fallen pack members, most of whom had begun to slowly pull themselves back up to their feet, some of them wincing in pain at every small movement. The sound of nearby footsteps redirected Carl's attention back to Beta, who had noticed Carl watching in the distance and had started making his way toward him. Carl straightened up as the second in command approached him, taking note of how the man limped as well as the hand that was pressed to his chest, tainted with red. In fact, blood covered most of Beta's body, though Carl was unsure whether it was Beta's or someone else's. Either way, it was clear to Carl that Beta was wounded, though the man was obviously trying to hide it.

Not that Carl was surprised. Showing any kind of pain was a sign of weakness within the pack. If potential challengers saw Beta's weakened state, they might decide to use it as a chance to possibly climb up in the ranks. It's happened before, but so far, not one person had succeeded. It would take more than a few broken bones to actually weaken Beta. And after sparring with the man many times over the past few years, Carl knew this better than most. 

"What the hell happened to you?" Delta asked as Beta finally pulled to a stop in front of him, tilting his head back to meet Beta's eyes and making sure to keep his voice low so none of the surrounding Whisperers could hear him. He was genuinely curious too. What could have possibly injured Beta this much? Did Daryl or Glenn do it? While Delta knew that they were both great fighters -- and probably only got better during the past few years -- he also knew that Beta was damn near indestructible. So to see the large man _fighting_ to hide his pain actually kind of worried him. 

Though whether it was worry for Beta or his family, he had no clue.

"Got pushed down an elevator shaft," Beta said in a hoarse whisper. 

Delta blinked, not expecting that response.

Oh.

Well then.

That would definitely do it.

"That explains it," Delta mused, "you look like shit, by the way." Beta snorted, opening his mouth to respond when a voice interrupted them. 

"You're back." Delta tensed up immediately, turning his head in the direction of Alpha's voice. He could see others in the pack doing the same, and Delta quickly spotted the woman striding toward them, her people practically diving out of the way, making a path for her. She had her mask off, and the look on her face was totally blank as she pulled to a stop in front of Beta. 

Delta -- knowing that he was not needed -- took a few steps back, giving Beta and Alpha their space and making his way to where a cluster of Whisperers was standing a few feet away, all watching the exchange with curious eyes. Beta dipped his head to Alpha in a sign of respect, making a move to kneel before her, but Alpha lifted up a hand to stop him. She simply stared at her second in command for a few long moments.

Finally, she spoke.

"You came alone."

"I did," Beta said. 

Alpha narrowed her eyes dangerously, and Carl could tell that she was unimpressed by what she was hearing. "Why?"

"These people... they are-" Beta paused, obviously trying to find the correct words to use that wouldn't piss off Alpha even more "...they are smarter than I first expected. They brought the girl to an old apartment complex - made a trap to separate us from the guardians and picked the ones I brought with me off one by one." Beta made a half-hearted gesture to his body, slowly lifting his hand from his chest. Carl couldn't see well from where he stood, but it was clear that it was some kind of stab wound. "The only reason I didn't go after them was because one of them pushed me down an elevator shaft in the building. It took me a while to climb out." 

_I wonder which one of them managed to do that,_ Carl found himself wondering after a moment or two. Seriously though, who actually would have had the idea of shoving someone down an elevator shaft? He couldn't really see Glenn doing something like that, or Lydia because of how terrified she was of Beta. Henry was too fucking thin to be able to do that. It definitely wasn't Hershel, though that was an amusing thought -- maybe it had been the woman that had been with them? Or Daryl? That seemed like something that the archer would do. 

Hm...

Yeah, it was probably Daryl.

"Where did they appear to be headed?" Alpha questioned, her voice snapping Carl out of his thoughts. "Were they going back to the community my daughter was kept at?" It didn't take a genius to understand why she was asking this. If Daryl was bringing Lydia to an entirely different community -- well... then that could be both a problem and an advantage for the Whisperers. 

Another community meant more people to fight against, but at the same time, Carl had seen many communities where at least half of the people there hadn't stepped foot outside the walls in literal years. Now that he thought about it, maybe that was why the prison failed the way it did. Simply because they didn't have enough people who actually knew how to fight. If they had, then perhaps his family would have had a better chance of killing the Governor before he was able to do much damage. But probably not. Communities always fell eventually. Even if they had kept the prison, it would have only been a matter of time before someone else came and tried to take it. 

And who knows, maybe they would have succeeded. 

"No, I don't believe they were," Beta answered after a brief pause, "I followed their trail for a little while before coming back here. They weren't going in the same direction as the first community." That could mean one of two things. Either Daryl could be headed to the community Henry lived at, or he could be bringing them to a different one entirely. Carl wasn't sure which option he preferred. Both had their pros and cons. If Alpha had an opinion on this, she didn't show it. She simply stared up at Beta, seemingly considering what he said, before nodding her head in thought. 

She stepped back, glancing around at her people surrounding she and Beta. Then, she looked back at Beta, a smile slowly creeping across her face. "You have done well, Beta, you can rest," the man nodded, starting to limp away, and Alpha raised her voice a tad, now addressing the crowd gathered around her. "What these people did will not go unpunished. We will show them that they are not to cross us. That we are not fools. We are the Whisperers, and we will teach these people that we are to be feared. It's time for us to stake a claim."

Carl's eye narrowed as he mulled over her words. Stake a claim? What the hell did she mean by that? The Whisperers didn't 'claim' anything -- they were animals, monsters. Monsters don't own or claim -- they kill, ravage, and eat. 

"Delta," Carl straightened up as Alpha addressed him, taking a step forward and dipping his head. The woman made a motion to two of the nearby Whisperers, "I want you to take the sisters and track down the group who has my daughter. Don't try and attack them, don't let them know you're there. Just listen and watch, and if you learn something of importance, report back to me." Carl nodded, a feeling of unease creeping up in his stomach. But he didn't let it show; he couldn't. Instead, watched as Alpha turned and strode away, probably to go and interrogate Beta some more. He sighed, unsheathing his knife as the crowd began to disperse, all of them going back to their respective jobs. 

He gave the two sisters a small nod as they approached him but otherwise refused to say a single word as he turned and started making his way out of camp. He didn't bother to check if they followed. All he could think about was Alpha's words. _It's time for us to stake a claim._ That didn't make any sense. What was Alpha planning? He didn't know. But what he did know was that whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good. But right now, wondering about it wouldn't answer any of his questions. All he could do at the moment was obey Alpha's orders and pray that everything wasn't about to go to shit. 

But knowing his luck, everything was probably going to come crashing down.

Goddammit, why couldn't things ever be easy? 

* * *

The wind whistled through the treetops -- cold and crips and unrelenting -- lifting fallen sticks and leaves and small rocks from the ground and swirling them around. Lydia hugged her arms a little closer to her chest, strands of dark hair being blown into her face as she, Daryl, Glenn, Connie, Hershel, Dog, and Henry picked their way through the woods, careful to keep their footsteps as quiet and as light as possible. They didn't want to leave any tracks for the Whisperers to potentially find, Daryl had said. But even if they didn't make any sort of trail to follow, Lydia had a feeling that her mother would end up discovering this community -- Alexandria, they called it -- anyway. She's done it before, and Lydia knew that she could, and would, do it again. 

Not for the first time, Lydia wished her mother was less persistent. Maybe then she would leave Lydia alone. But wishing didn't change a single thing; it never had, and it never would. All it did was create stupid fantasies that would end up driving a person insane thinking about. No amount of hoping, wishing, and praying would help anyone. Lydia had learned that lesson the hard way. 

The breeze blew Lydia's hair back into her face, and she swore under her breath, once again reaching up to tuck it behind her ear. She would kill for a hair tie right about now, or anything at all to tie her hair up with -- still, Lydia's handled worse. So she simply adjusted Delta's hat on her head before letting her arms drop back to her sides, taking in a deep breath of the cool air. It felt nice to breathe without the reek of death hanging around like a dark cloud. Lydia had never enjoyed the smell, unlike her mother. Delta had seemed to share the same sentiment, and Lydia knew others in the pack did as well.

Not that many would say anything about it around Beta or Alpha. 

Lydia glanced up, stopping as Glenn let out a string of curses from ahead of her. The man was leaning heavily on Daryl, who was practically dragging him along at this point. Glenn wasn't in good condition; that much was clear to her -- his face deathly pale and dripping with sweat, and he slowed down more and more with each passing second. Even Henry wasn't having as much trouble as Glenn was. At the thought of the blond, Lydia looked over at where Henry was now leaning on Connie a couple feet away. He caught her stare and gave her a strained smile. Lydia nervously returned it. 

"Need'ta take a break?" Daryl asked his friend, pulling to a stop, but Glenn just gritted his teeth, weakly shaking his head. 

"M'fine," he forced out, though his words were slurred. Hershel took a nervous step forward, staring at his father with wide, worried green eyes. Glenn apparently noticed that and gave his son what Lydia thought was meant to be a comforting smile or something, but it came out as more of a grimace. "Seriously, just... the sooner we reach Alexandria, the better. Don't want t'be out here when night falls." He had a good point, but Lydia had a feeling that Glenn wouldn't be able to keep going much longer. 

Daryl was clearly thinking along the same lines. 

"Don't be stupid," the hunter grunted, rolling his eyes, "if you're not gonna take a break, then I'll carry your ass all the way to Alexandria if I have to." Glenn made a face, and he looked as if he were about to protest, but then he glanced down at Hershel, and something odd crossed his face. It was gone in seconds, so Lydia couldn't tell what it was, but reluctantly, Glenn nodded. 

"Fine, we can take a break," he grumbled, "but only for five minutes, then we get going again."

Daryl rolled his eyes at this, mumbling something that, to Lydia, sounds like: "Maggie's gonna kill me for this," but quickly moved to help Glenn sit down, leaning him against a nearby tree as gently as he could. But even though the man was being gentle, Glenn still flinched at every small movement and was obviously trying to fight back vast amounts of pain. Lydia shuffled her weight from foot to foot, watching as Henry plopped down next to Glenn, offering the man a small smile, which the older man weakly returned.

Lydia made a move to sit down as well, but a hand landing on her shoulder made her jump in fright. She whirled around, eyes wide and muscles tense, only relaxing when she saw Daryl standing there, having approached her while she was lost in her thoughts. He pulled his hand away quickly, and Lydia could have sworn that, for a moment, the hunter looked guilty, but the emotion was gone in a flash, leaving Lydia unsure. 

"You okay?" Daryl asked after a moment, quiet enough so only she could hear, and Lydia narrowed her eyes at him as she processed his question, curious as to why he was even asking. Daryl had made it perfectly clear that he still didn't trust Lydia -- not that she could blame him for that; Lydia wouldn't trust herself either if she were in his shoes -- so the newfound worry he now seemed to show confused her more than she'd like to admit.

Still, Lydia shrugged, sneaking a look over at Henry and Glenn -- who Connie was now sitting beside while Hershel played with Dog a few feet away -- before returning her gaze back to Daryl, "shouldn't you be asking them that?" 

Daryl snorted, "Glenn would insist that he's fine even if he had broken every bone in his body." Lydia's lips quirked up into the smallest of smiles at this. 

"Delta is like that sometimes too," she told him, and Lydia was unable to stop the flicker of curiosity that grew within her when she saw the thinly veiled interest rising in Daryl's eyes. "Once he got badly injured after an attack on a smaller community - a house exploded near him, I think - and when he came back, he was covered in all sorts of burns. And yet, Delta still tried to tell me that he was okay. Still has scars from that, actually." 

"Yeah, I saw 'em," Daryl said gruffly, "well, the one on his face. Also saw a glimpse of the one on his arm, must've hurt like a bitch." Lydia nodded but narrowed her eyes at the way the hunter's face seemed to flicker with something akin to guilt, confusion bubbling up within her. If she didn't know any better, she would say that Daryl felt guilty for what happened to Delta all those years ago, but that didn't make any sense. Daryl didn't know anything about Delta. Hell, he hadn't even met him until a couple days ago, so why would Daryl feel guilty about something like that? From the way that the hunter was acting, it's almost like-

Like-

Lydia's eyes widened suddenly.

_Oh._

"You knew him," Lydia breathed, staring at Daryl with wide eyes, "You... you knew Delta, didn't you?" It all made so much sense now: why Daryl knew Delta's real name, why he and Glenn looked so surprised when seeing Lydia wearing Delta's hat, why Daryl looked so guilty when he learned of Delta's scars, why Delta had seemed so shocked when he and Lydia had been taken captive at the bridge... Everything that hadn't made a lick of sense to her before clicked together like legos. There had been so many signs that Lydia was only now picking up on, and she felt like such a fucking dumbass for only just realizing. 

Daryl stared at her for a long moment. Finally, he nodded. "Met him durin' the start," the hunter said quietly, "kid was only twelve at the time, was an annoying little shit too. But he was a good kid, loved that hat to bits as well. Wore it everywhere." Lydia tilted her head, furrowing her brow. She reached up a hand, rubbing a finger over the dusty fabric. Then, she gave Daryl a questioning glance, but Daryl was now refusing to look at her, instead staring down at his feet. 

"What happened? How... how did he get separated from everyone else..?" Lydia asked softly. She knew a little bit from what Delta had told her. That his group had formed a community in an abandoned prison where his mother died, and his sister was born, but he never mentioned how it had fallen. Or why. He never liked talking about his past much at all, so Lydia never really asked for details. It had been his business, after all -- not hers. 

Daryl looked up, his expression darkening. "Our group found a place to call home 'round a year after this shit started. But there was this asshole, called himself the Governor, who had a community not all that far away. He was a manipulative bastard, and a power-hungry one too. Tried attacking us a couple of times. Then, he just disappeared. We tried lookin' for him, but we couldn't find a trace of him, so we stopped." Daryl shook his head, his nostrils flaring. "Then, six or so months later, the fucker rolled up to our gates with a mini-army and a goddamn tank in tow. He destroyed the place, dying in the process. I saw Carl fighting off some walkers outside the walls, killed two of them, yelled at him to run. I tried trackin' him down, followed his trail to an old cabin. But after that..." the hunter sighed, "-was unable to find him."

Lydia remained quiet for a few seconds, mulling over this new information. "He thought you all were dead," she said finally.

"I know, he told me," Daryl said, his lips twitching into something close to a grimace, "some of us died over the years, but most of us are still alive." He glanced over at Lydia, his eyebrows knitting together. "His family is alive too, he ever tell you 'bout them?"

Lydia swallowed nervously. "He told me about his sister and his dad... His sister's name is Judith, right?" She didn't mention that she only just learned that a few days before.

Daryl looked unsurprised that she knew this information. "Yeah. The kid actually lives at the community we're headin to right now. She's a damn spitfire - I think you'd like her." Lydia couldn't help but smile at hearing this -- Delta would be so happy to learn his sister was alive. He always seemed so... broken whenever talking about the baby sister he had loved so much. He would be overjoyed when he realized she wasn't dead. 

If he ever realized... 

Lydia winced at this thought, trying to push it away. She then opened her mouth, preparing to ask Daryl another question -- about Delta's father this time. But before she could, there was a loud yelp of pain, and both Daryl and Lydia looked over to see Glenn struggling to climb to his feet. Connie was hovering above him with an annoyed expression on her face while Henry and Hershel watched curiously from the side. Daryl swore, striding forward. "The fuck are you doing?" He snapped to them. Dog sprang to his feet, giving a small yip and wagging his tail. 

Glenn winced, though whether it was from pain or embarrassment, Lydia didn't know. "It's been more than five minutes, so we should get going." He explained, and it was clear to Lydia that every word was hurting Glenn more and more. Daryl seemed to sense this too, for he didn't try arguing, probably knowing that would only cause the other man more pain.

"Fucking Christ," the hunter muttered, but he grabbed Glenn's other arm, looping it around his shoulder as Connie moved back to help Henry up to his feet. Lydia, sensing she and Daryl's conversation was now over, moved to the blond boy's side, wrapping an arm around his waist so he could lean on her. Connie sent her a smile and went to go help Daryl with Glenn. 

Soon enough, the group started walking again, mostly in silence. After a few minutes, Hershel decided that he was tired of this and started humming loudly to break the quiet. No one tried stopping him. Dog trotted a little bit ahead of the group, sniffing around and warning them of any approaching guardians, which Daryl or Connie quickly took care of before they could get too close. Lydia and Henry walked near the back, and she found herself eyeing the sky above anxiously, noting the yellows and oranges that now mixed in with the blue. The sun would be setting soon. Traveling at night would be dangerous -- Lydia hoped that this 'Alexandria' was close. Otherwise things would start getting really bad.

"What were you and Daryl talking about?" Henry asked after thirty minutes of walking, and Lydia gave him a curious look. Henry clarified, "I mean, he's not much of a talker, and neither are you-" Lydia snorted "-so I was kind of surprised to see you guys talking with each other. Was it something important?"

Lydia shrugged -- as best she could with Henry leaning against her. "It was about Delta."

"Oh," Henry bit his lip, mulling this over, "what about him?"

Should she tell him? Lydia wasn't sure. Henry was her friend, but she wasn't really sure if she could trust him quite yet, but, then again, she also didn't know Daryl all that well either, and he knew of Delta's identity... 

Lydia made her decision.

She hoped it wasn't the wrong one.

"Apparently, Daryl and Glenn met Delta during the start of this - they were in the same group," Lydia said, choosing her words carefully as to not give too much information. Henry's eyes widened, and his mouth formed into a small 'o.'

"My mom was in the same group as Daryl was during the start," the blond said quietly after a second or two, "do you think she knew Delta as well?" 

Huh.

That's interesting.

"I dunno, maybe," Lydia answered, staring at where Daryl and Glenn were walking ahead of them. A part of her was tempted to go up and pester Daryl with questions. But another part of her was telling her to wait -- and she chose to listen to that part. Patience always paid out in the end. "It's why they reacted that way to the hat-" she tapped the brim of Delta's hat as she said this, "-because Delta used to wear it around them all the time."

Suddenly, Henry's face changed completely, forming into an expression of realization and shock. "Oh shit..."

Lydia blinked, confused. "What?"

"I know who Delta is," Henry breathed, "I heard my mom talking about him once to my dad. I never learned his name, but I know that his father is the leader of the community we're about to go to. He was actually at Hilltop while you were there." 

Oh.

Well then.

Lydia probably should have expected that -- if Delta's sister was at the community they were heading to, then why shouldn't his father be there too? For some reason, Lydia's mind immediately went to the bearded man she had seen Daryl talking to right after she and Delta had been captured at the bridge. Lydia remembered meeting the man's eyes briefly -- they had been the same shade of blue as Delta's were. Lydia hadn't really thought much of it at the time -- seeing as she was kind of scared out of her mind. But now...

Could... could that have been Delta's father? 

"Do you think he knows that Delta is alive?" Henry whispered to her.

Lydia shook her head, and she soon found herself slightly dreading getting to Alexandria. 

Because _this?_

This was either going to go very good or very bad.

And with her luck being the way it was, it was probably going to be the latter.

_Fuck._

* * *

An odd feeling came over Daryl as he and the others approached the gates of Alexandria after another grueling hour of walking -- it felt like it had been ages since he had last seen these walls, much less been inside them. But Daryl knew it had only been around a week. Still, that week had seemed like the longest one in his life. And with all the shit that had been going down back at Hilltop, could anyone really blame him? Daryl watched as the guard standing on top of the platform hoisted up her gun, but upon spotting them, lowered it. It was one of the Saviors who moved to Alexandria after Negan's imprisonment -- if he was remembering things correctly, then her name was Laura. 

"State your business." The blonde called out as the group pulled to a stop. Even from where he was, Daryl could easily see her eyes widening when she took in the battered state of the group -- especially Glenn, whose condition had only gotten worse. He was hardly conscious at this point. 

"Need't talk to Rick," Daryl rasped out after a moment, "or Michonne. Can y'get one of them?" 

The woman gave the group a long look, then she leaned back, and Daryl could vaguely hear her shouting something to the people below. While she did this, Daryl turned to Lydia. If Rick was about to show up at the gates, she probably shouldn't be wearing that hat.

"Lydia." The girl looked up from where she stood at Henry's side. "Might want'ta take that hat off." She stared at him for a second before giving a small nod, reluctantly pulling the hat from her head and passing it over to Connie, who took it and stuffed it in their bag. The dark-haired woman looked more than a little curious as she put it inside but didn't ask. Or write. 

Either way, Daryl was thankful. 

No one said anything else for a couple minutes. But, finally, a familiar face showed herself -- it was Michonne. She stared down at the group before them, her gaze lingering on Lydia before widening as they landed on Glenn. And with good reason, too.

"What happened?" She called out. 

"S'long story," Daryl explained, "will tell it t'you later. But Glenn and Henry are hurt. You were the closest." He could see Michonne mulling this over, as well as her gaze drifting closer to Lydia.

"What about her?" 

Without even realizing it, Daryl inched closer to Lydia -- covering the girl from view as Henry called out: "She's with us."

Michonne nodded, straightening up before turning to face Aaron and Laura. The man said something to her, and Michonne stared at him for a few long moments before whispering something in return. She turned back around, peering at something just behind the gates. "Open it!"

Moments later, there was a creaking noise as the front gate squeaked open. Almost immediately, Aaron jogged through the opening, pulling to a stop in front of Daryl. His gaze moved over to Glenn, his face becoming marred with worry, "Want me to take him?" He asked quietly. 

Daryl nodded, wordlessly passing Glenn off to Aaron, who whimpered at the movement, but otherwise did not make a single noise. Hershel, upon realizing that his father was being taken away, quickly made a move to follow. Daryl watched a few others rushed forward, helping the injured man to get to the infirmary. While a part of him was tempted to go with them, he knew that his friend was gonna be okay -- he was in good hands here. So the group walked forward, and Daryl kept a hand on Lydia's shoulder, glowering at anyone who might try and question who she was. 

The gate squeaked shut behind them, and Daryl couldn't hide a grin as Michonne approached. She strode forward, enveloping Daryl in a hug before stepping back and doing a quick once-over of their little group. Michonne glanced over in the direction of the infirmary before looking back at and gesturing toward Henry.

"You should go and get that leg checked out," she told the boy, who made a face. She ignored it and looked over to where Laura was standing to the side, "take him to see Beth and Siddiq." The former-Savior nodded, and Daryl watched as she moved forward, helping the boy get to the infirmary. 

Michonne's gaze then drifted to Lydia, arching a brow. "I remember you." She stated curtly. The girl winced.

Connie made a huffing noise, and Daryl watched as she pulled out her notepad, quickly scribbling something onto it. She raised it up so Michonne could see: _She's one of us. We trust her._ Michonne looked over at Daryl, a question in her eyes, and he nodded in confirmation of Connie's words. The woman sighed before giving Lydia a long stare, "you hurt anyone here, I will kill you myself."

"I assumed that would be the case," Lydia said quietly, "I won't hurt anyone." The girl glanced over in the direction Henry had disappeared in, something that Michonne obviously noticed.

"Connie can go with the infirmary with you," Michonne said after a moment, thankfully talking somewhat slowly so that Connie was able to understand her words. Connie then nodded, smiling at Lydia before starting to lead the girl to the infirmary. Daryl didn't bother asking how she even remembered where it was, seeing as she'd only been there once or twice. He just braced himself as Michonne turned to look back at him.

"Mind explaining what this was?" She asked after a moment, confusion, irritation, and worry apparent in her voice. "What the hell happened to Glenn? And Henry? And why was that girl with you?" Daryl grimaced as she fired off question after question, glancing around at the small crowd of people that had begun forming around them.

"Where's Rick?" He asked instead, ignoring Michonne's annoyed look as well as the exhaustion threatening to overcome him. "It would probably be better if y'heard this story together." 

Michonne took a look around, apparently just noticing the crowd. "Fucking hell-" she closed her eyes, pinching her nose before opening them again and looking at Daryl, "Rick's playing with Judith and RJ. How about you head over to the infirmary to see Beth while I go and get him."

Daryl nodded, not wanting to pass up the opportunity to see his wife first. "Sounds good to me."

* * *

Lydia ducked into the infirmary with Connie at her side, eyes scouring for Henry. She spotted her friend's familiar figure sitting all alone on one of the white beds in the room, his face scrunched up in pain as he stared down at his wounded leg. He looked up upon hearing the door opening, his whole face lighting up when he saw Lydia at the door. Lydia couldn't help but smile as well, and she walked over, sitting beside him on the bed while Connie opened another door on the other side of the room, leading out into a hallway, and disappeared from view. 

Lydia grabbed Henry's hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Hey," she greeted.

Henry grinned, squeezing Lydia's hand back. "Hey."

Lydia glanced around. "Aren't there supposed to be doctors in here?"

Henry nodded. "There are - but one of the doctors is helping Glenn right now in a different room, and the other-"

"Mama is getting stuff to help his leg," an unfamiliar voice piped up, and Lydia’s head shot up, her gaze then drawn to a little girl standing in the doorway of the door that Connie had just disappeared through. She looked to be around five or six years old, with light blonde hair pulled into a ponytail and dark blue eyes. She's wearing a small blue vest -- one similar to what Daryl wore with a lot less tears in it -- and had a stuffed animal, a wolf or something, tucked under her elbow. 

Lydia could only stare, surprised at the little girl's sudden appearance. Henry, on the other hand, didn't seem as surprised. He just looked tired. "Hello, Annie." He said, sending the girl a small smile. He then looked at Lydia and, as if sensing her confusion, said, "Lydia, this is Annette. She's Hershel's cousin and... and Daryl's daughter."

Daryl's _what?_

Lydia could only stare as the little girl -- Annette -- bounded forward until she was only an inch or two away from the bed Lydia and Henry sat at. She peered at Henry's leg, making a face as she laid eyes on the wound, before looking up at Lydia. She stared at Lydia for a few seconds before beaming. "Hi, I like your hair. It's pretty."

What. 

The.

Fuck.

"Um..." Lydia was at a loss for words. She didn't interact with children often, much less ones as young as Hershel or Anne. And she didn't really get complimented much either. Still, she knew that she had to say something. "Thank you..?" It came out as more of a question, if anything, but this seemed to satisfy Annie, for the little blonde clambered up onto the bed beside her before reaching out to grab a strand of Lydia's hair. 

"It's soft," Annie declared, staring down at the piece of hair she held in her hand. Lydia just stared at her. Her hair was not _soft._ It was tangled with all sorts of twigs and leaves and would probably take ages to comb out. She sent a panicked glance toward Henry, and the blond had the gall to look _amused._ Lydia glared at him -- he just grinned. _Traitor._ She winced as Annie tugged on her hair and looked back at the little girl. She opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by a voice at the door.

"Annette Maggie Dixon, what are you _doing?!"_ Annie's eyes went wide, and she dropped Lydia's hair, pulling her hand back as if she'd just been burned. Lydia looked up as an older blonde woman entered the room, a bag slung over her shoulders and a hand on her hip. She had shoulder-length blonde hair, a similar shade as Anne's, and it didn't take long for Lydia to realize that this was probably the little girl's mother. 

"She wasn't doing anything wrong, Beth," Henry assured the woman, "she just took Lydia by surprise, that's all."

"Lydia?" The woman -- Beth -- echoed, her eyes landing on Lydia. "Oh, hello, I don't believe we've met," Beth sent her a kind smile, which Lydia shyly returned, "my name is Beth. Are you new to Alexandria?"

Lydia shrugged, "something like that..." 

Beth nodded, her gaze returning to her daughter. "Anne, go play with Hershel - you won't want to see this." The little girl pouted.

"But _Mama!"_ She cried out. "I wanna stay!"

Beth gave Annie a stern look. "Go."

The little girl's shoulders drooped, and Beth sighed. "You can shower Lydia in questions later, now go." The little girl's face brightened slightly, and she darted out the door. Beth watched her go before looking at Lydia. "Sorry about her. She doesn't meet new people often, so she gets really excited when someone she doesn't know appears. She'll probably ambush you later and ask if she can play with your hair or something."

"She likes hair?" Lydia questioned, blinking slowly. Beside her, Henry snorted. 

"Kind of," Beth circles the bed, kneeling down beside Henry and peering at the wound on his leg. She placed her bag down, "She's obsessed with styling hair. She's trying to learn how to braid right now, actually." Beth took out a pair of scissors from her bag, cutting the fabric around the stab wound. Lydia had to do a double-take when she realized the woman's left arm from the elbow down was completely metal. 

Beth must have sensed her surprise. "I got bit a couple years back helping a friend," she explained, and Lydia flushed, embarrassed at being caught staring. Thankfully, the woman didn't seem too offended by it, instead turning to Henry as she put down the scissors. "How long ago did you get this?" She questioned, taking out a sewing kit from her bag. 

Henry's brows knitted together in thought. "Um, a few hours ago. Wasn't really keeping track." 

"Did you clean it?" Beth asked next.

Henry nodded, "Yeah, it was the first thing Daryl did. Since when did he keep a first-aid kit in his vest?"

"I made him bring one with him before he left for Hilltop," Beth explained, pulling on a pair of gloves, "and it's a good thing I did." She peered up at Henry, holding up a needle in her hands. "This is gonna hurt." Henry grimaced, nodding. And Lydia reached out to squeeze his hand again.

"Just do it," Henry mumbled, "the sooner it's done, the better."

Beth smiled sadly, "agreed." Then, she focused down on the wound, and Lydia grimaced as she pushed the needle into Henry's skin. Immediately, Henry inhaled sharply, squeezing Lydia's hand _hard._ Lydia rested her other hand on his back, rubbing circles into his green jacket in an attempt to comfort him. 

"The first stitch is done," Beth murmured absently, moving the needle back to the wound, "you ready for the next one?"

"Yeah," Henry panted, his face scrunched up in pain, "I'm ready." 

Beth nodded, pushing the needle back in. 

Henry gasped, a whimper escaping him.

Lydia just squeezed his hand harder. 

* * *

The first thing that happened when Daryl entered the infirmary was get tackled by his tiny daughter. He stumbled back, lifted her into his arms, and swung her around, causing the little girl to burst into a fit of giggles. He then asked Siddiq where Glenn was, and followed the directions he was given into one of the rooms -- Annette still curled up in his arms and Dog trotting at his heels. 

When he entered, Glenn was, unsurprisingly, asleep. Hershel sat in a chair by his dad's bedside while Beth was putting a wet cloth on her brother-in-law's forehead but turned when she heard the door opening. A smile immediately spread across her face upon spotting Daryl. Annie -- upon spotting her cousin in the corner -- demanded to be put down. He let his daughter slip out of his arms, straightening up again as Beth strode forward, patting Dog on the head as she approached. 

"Hey," she whispered before pressing a kiss to his lips.

As soon as she pulled away, Daryl enveloped her in a tight hug, pressing his nose into her hair and taking in her scent, "S'good to see you." He mumbled, and he felt her laugh into his chest. He didn't dare tell her that he thought he wouldn't see her again during the fight with Beta. He'd prefer to not tell her about Beta at all, but at the same time, he wasn't about to hide that kind of thing from her. Beta was a danger, and if Beth was oblivious to his existence, that would only get her hurt -- or worse. 

Beth hummed before suddenly pulling back from the hug. She peered up at him, her eyes narrowing. "Are you injured too?" She raised up her hand -- the remaining one -- her fingers grazing over the bruise that had just started forming on his cheek. 

Daryl shook his head, leaning into her touch. "just a couple bruises," he assured her. Then his gaze drifted over to where Glenn now lay. "What about him? Will he be alright?"

Beth nodded, though her lips were twitching into a small frown. "He definitely has at least one broken rib - as well as a concussion - but he should be alright as long as he rests." Daryl's eyes widened -- he hadn't even considered the possibility of a concussion. Glenn must have hit his head hard when Beta had thrown him to the ground. That also explained why Glenn seemed to be losing energy so quickly. Beth arched a brow at his reaction.

"Mind explainin' what happened that caused my brother-in-law to get so beat up?" Beth glanced over at the children talking in the corner. "And Henry, how did he end up getting hurt?"

Daryl sighed. "It's a long story..." at Beth's look, he sighed again. "Did Rick or Michonne tell y'what happened?" 

"With Jesus and those skin people? Yeah, they did." Beth's face faltered at the mention of Jesus -- she had been good friends with the man, so to hear that he was gone no doubt hurt a great deal. "Did you get attacked by the skin-people? Is that what happened?"

"Yeah," Daryl ran a hand through his hair, "I'll give ya the full story later. I just... m'pretty fuckin' tired right now."

Beth's face softened. She reached out, taking his hand. "You go and rest. I'll tell you when Rick and Michonne come."

Daryl could only muster up the strength to smile.

* * *

In the end, Daryl only lasted about five minutes lying in bed before he got back up again. There was simply too much on his mind to rest right now. 

He went to Beth, told her the full story.

_"Carl is alive,"_ he said.

_"He's one of these people,"_ he said.

_"Rick doesn't know,"_ he said.

_"I don't know what to do,"_ he said.

Beth had stared at him for a long moment.

Then, she hugged him.

"Tell him the truth," she whispered into his ear. 

* * *

_Tell him the truth._

After doing a quick check on Glenn, Hershel, and Anne, Daryl had ventured out of the infirmary, not all that surprised to see Lydia and Henry sitting on some porch steps not that far away. They're peering at Henry's wounded leg, murmuring softly to one another in voices to quiet for anyone else to hear. Daryl, not quite ready to confront his best friend yet, decided to approach the two teenagers, nodding to Laura, who was standing guard a few feet away from them, no doubt at Michonne's orders.

Daryl made sure to keep his footsteps audible, not wanting to startle either of them. Sure enough, Lydia looked up at the sound of his approach, Henry following in suit a few moments later. The blond teenager smiled up at him, "Hey, Daryl."

"How's your leg?" Daryl asked, ignoring his greeting. Neither Henry or Lydia looked offended or surprised by that. Good. 

Henry glanced down at his leg, making a face as he ran a finger down the stitches. "It's ugly," he said after a moment, "and it hurts, but not as much as before. Beth stitched it up really well - though she says it's probably going to scar." 

Lydia bumped her shoulder into his, "that's not entirely a bad thing." Henry smiled at her, a faint flush covering his face -- the poor kid was smitten. Lydia either didn't notice this or simply ignored it. And with all the shit that's been happening lately, Daryl wouldn't be too surprised if it was the former. Also, he was around ninety-nine percent sure that she had a crush on Carl, but he could be wrong. 

Daryl gave Lydia a long look, "Beth told me y'met Anne." Almost instantly, the girl's face twisted into a tired expression, and she let out a heavy sigh. Next to her, Henry was clearly fighting to hide a laugh. Daryl couldn't help the small smile that spread across his face at this -- Annette could tire anyone out. "She's a ball of energy, but y'get used't it." 

"That's an understatement," she muttered under her breath, then Lydia peered up at him, her eyes curious, "I never realized you had a kid."

Daryl shrugged, "most don't. M'not exactly the kind of person to have kids. Sometimes I'm surprised by it as well." He wasn't exactly lying when he said this, either. If someone had told him ten years ago that he would be married with a kid -- a daughter at that -- he probably would have punched them in the face for lying. Dixon's had never been meant for parenthood; it simply wasn't something that any of them wanted or could deal with. Hell, Daryl had never even considered the concept of having a kid until Beth had told him she was pregnant. And when that happened, Daryl freaked out and left Alexandria for two full months (how he found Dog). Maggie had nearly broken his nose for it when he came back, and to be honest, Daryl probably deserved that. 

But, somehow, Beth still forgave him for that. And little Annette was born a couple months after Hershel Rhee was. 

"How is Glenn, by the way?" Henry asked, breaking Daryl out of his thoughts. Henry sighed, straightening up as he spoke. "Is he okay? Beth didn't really say much when I asked her." Henry's face wore an expression of guilt, and he fidgeted nervously. He was obviously blaming himself for what happened. That's good -- at least he would think twice before doing something like that again. _Kid could've gotten someone killed._

"He'll be fine, just needs to rest for a while," Daryl assured him, and Henry visibly relaxed. Even Lydia, who had only really known Glenn for less than two days, seemed relieved by this. Henry opened his mouth again, probably about to pester Daryl with more and more questions about Glenn's wellbeing when his gaze landed on something behind him, and his eyes went wide as saucers. Daryl grimaced.

Shit, what happened now?

"Daryl?" Rick's voice sounded from behind him, and the hunter felt his body tense up slightly, inwardly cursing himself for having that reaction to his best friend of all people. What the hell was wrong with him -- Rick wasn't Will Dixon; he wasn't going to lay a hand on Daryl. The only reason Daryl was acting like this was because of the secret he now kept hidden. But Daryl didn't have the time to think about that, just turning and taking in the relieved face of Rick Grimes, who was smiling at him -- though that smile faltered when his eyes landed on Lydia and Henry sitting on the porch steps. "Michonne told me you were here. I'm assuming you found Hershel and Henry." Rick gave the blond teenager a pointed look, causing Henry's face to flush with embarrassment.

"Not without a shit ton of trouble," Daryl said after a second or two. Once again, Henry winced, and poor Lydia looked like she'd rather be anywhere but there. Daryl couldn't blame her. The girl probably just wanted a little less drama to deal with. 

Rick snorted, "Yeah, the fact that Glenn is unconscious in the infirmary kind of tells me that. What the hell happened out there?" His eyes narrowed, the confusion evident on his face. Daryl grimaced, exhaling slowly. He glanced over at Lydia and Henry, motioning for them to go away. Neither of them protested or complained, just climbed up to their feet and walked away. Daryl turned back to Rick, his heart heavy.

This would be the perfect moment to say something.

This would be the perfect moment to tell Rick about Carl.

"Want the full story or the short one," Daryl asked tiredly. Rick gave him a pointed look, opening his mouth to speak. But no words came out. He stared out at something over Daryl's shoulders, looking stricken. Daryl frowned at this, "Rick?" he tried.

No reaction. No response.

Then, a feeling of dread formed in his stomach. 

Daryl turned, and his eyes landed on Lydia and Henry now walking down the street. Nothing seemed out of place at first glance.

But then he saw it.

Lydia was wearing Carl's hat again. 

Daryl looked back at Rick. He saw the recognition flicker across his friend's face, followed by disbelief, horror, and confusion. _Shit._

It's time.

There was no hiding this.

Rick had seen the hat. 

Rick had seen and recognized the hat. _Carl's hat._ Daryl couldn't hide this from him any longer. Daryl had wanted to wait up until he actually had the courage to say something, but he knew he wouldn't be able to do that. Not anymore. Rick had begun to shake, and slowly -- ever so slowly -- he turned to stare at Daryl, his eyes wide and his face slack with shock. His friend looked at him with a question in his eyes.

No, no... it wasn't a question. 

Rick opened his mouth before closing it again, utterly speechless. Before he could regain his voice, Daryl grabbed him by the arm, pulling his friend down Alexandria's street until they were back at the infirmary, yanking him inside and shutting the door behind him. Thankfully there wasn't really anyone inside right now -- Beth must be somewhere else with Hershel and Annie, most likely getting them food, and Glenn was probably still unconscious in the other room. That's good. That would make this a little bit easier, wouldn't it?

The moment that the door clicked shut, Rick ripped his arm right out of Daryl's grip, stumbling backward and staring over at him with wide eyes. 

"I need'ta tell you somethin," Daryl blurted out before Rick could say anything. But he was on the verge of slapping himself right now -- because yes, he needed to tell Rick something, but he should have said something days ago when Alpha had first appeared at Hilltop's gates. He shouldn't be forced to do it. He should have done it before Rick saw that hat on Lydia's head. But since he's too much of a goddamn coward, here he was. 

"You need to-" Rick jerked his head from side to side, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking back up, his expression hard, "You need to tell me something?! Does that 'something' have anything to do with the fact that my _son's hat_ is on that girl's _head?!"_ His voice became louder and louder with every word, and Daryl bit back the urge to flinch away and flee. Because right now, Rick had every right to yell at him.

"Carl is alive," Daryl said, forcing himself to meet Rick's gaze -- his brother looked... broken... at hearing Daryl's words. Almost as if he'd been expecting something different. "He's alive... has been for the past eight years. He's been with those skin-people for a while, dunno how long. He-"

"-is Delta..." Rick finished for him. His voice was quiet... weaker than he's ever heard it... tinged with disbelief, fear, and realization. Daryl tore his eyes away from Rick, refusing to look at him. Because he couldn't handle seeing the look of anger and betrayal that would no doubt be on Rick's face. That should be on Rick's face. He waited for Rick to say something -- to start yelling, but instead, Rick was breathing heavily -- choked out sobs escaping him no matter how hard his brother tried to hold them back. The sounds he was making now remind Daryl of their first meeting with Negan, weirdly enough. Of how broken everyone had seemed after the madman had killed two of their friends. But for some reason, this felt so much worse. Daryl could hardly breathe right now. It was like a snake had wound itself around his chest, squeezing until his lungs were screaming for air. 

It hadn't felt like this when they met Negan. All Daryl had been feeling at the time was rage and grief. But here...

"I'm sorry..." Daryl rasped out. _Sorry? Fucking hell Dixon, pull yourself together._ Sorry wouldn't help Carl. Sorry wouldn't help Rick. They were hollow words that wouldn't do shit for anyone. Daryl had known this for as long as he could remember -- had known how empty the word 'sorry' was -- but he still said it. Maybe he said it because he couldn't stand staying silent, or perhaps it was because of some other reason. Daryl didn't know. "I... I wanted to tell you sooner, but I just-" Daryl cut himself off, not trusting himself to keep talking. Nothing he said would do anything to help his case. It would only make Rick hate him more.

Maybe that would be for the best. 

Despite his better judgment, Daryl forced himself to look up at Rick.

The look that his brother was giving him shattered his heart into pieces. 

Rick stared at Daryl, not saying a single word. For some reason, that made it so much worse. Rick should be yelling -- should be screaming at the top of his lungs -- should be blaming Daryl for hiding Carl's identity from him. Rick should be trying to hit him, and Daryl wouldn't fight back because he fucking deserved it. But he wasn't. Instead, Rick remained silent. He stayed silent, but all Daryl wanted him to do was yell. For him to say something.  _ Anything.  _

Then, ever so slowly, Rick sunk down to his knees, his hands moving to cover his face. Daryl stepped back, watching with wide eyes as his brother began to break down. In seconds, Rick had started shaking violently, sobs wreaking havoc on his body. Practically shattering on the floor in a billion gasping, choked out pieces that Rick had tried so hard to piece back together since his son's supposed death, only to fall apart almost a full decade later. 

"Rick..." Daryl took a step forward, reaching out a hand. 

"Don't touch me!" Rick snapped, slapping away the hand that Daryl had stretched out. Daryl jumped back, snatching his hand to his chest, and though the slap only stung a little bit, Daryl felt as if he'd just been stabbed in the heart. While a look of guilt passed over Rick's face, it was quickly shadowed by a look of anger and grief, "Just... just get out." Rick hung his head, his shoulders shaking as tears trailed down his cheeks. "Please..."

Daryl could only stare at his brother's slumped over form as he backed away toward the door. "Okay... okay, I'll go..." he whispered, trying to fight back the tears threatening to fall from his own eyes -- goddammit, was he really about to cry? _ Pull it together. _ "I'm sorry..." Rick just shook his head, not saying a word. 

For some reason, that just made it so much worse.

Turning the doorknob, Daryl stumbled out from the infirmary -- practically collapsing against the door as soon as it closed. 

_ "I'm so sorry..."  _

* * *

The sun had begun to set by the time Carl and the two women wandered back into camp. He dismissed them quickly, telling them he would go report to Alpha. Neither of them argued -- if anything, they looked relieved. So Carl watched them go before turning, picking his way through camp. A few people glanced up at him as he walked by, but all Carl had to do was glare at them, and they would look away. After his little... show with David, no one in the pack was going to try and challenge him anytime soon. That was good.

And kind of a shame. Carl always loved the thrill of a fight, especially when it ended with him winning.

As Carl neared the area where Alpha had set up her own shelter, Beta appeared from behind a tree, causing Carl to stop in his tracks. He arched a brow at the larger man, who simply huffed, making a motion for Carl to follow him. Delta did so without complaint, knowing better than to refuse. His fingers twitched for a knife as Beta led him through the more empty side of camp, but he resisted the urge to pull it out. 

Beta led Delta to a small clearing where a dead deer lay in the middle, its insides coating the forest floor -- not exactly an unfamiliar sight at this point. Next to the animal's corpse was Alpha, covered in blood and wearing her mask as she stuck her hand into the deer's stomach. A few other Whisperers lingered nearby but quickly scattered upon spotting Beta and Delta's approach. Alpha glanced up, narrowing her eyes. She pulled her hand out from the deer, standing up, and Beta pulled to a stop in front of her, Delta quickly doing the same.

"You're back early," she said to Carl, gesturing for Beta to leave them alone. The larger man dipped his head before slipping away. Delta forced himself not to react to this.

"We found the community sooner than we expected," Delta answered. 

"And?" Alpha inquired, impatience seeping into her tone. She didn't like to be kept waiting.

"It's like the last one," Delta told her, "they have walls, livestock, weapons, but they're weak." Alpha crossed her arms, looking Delta up and down, before nodding.

"And my daughter? Was she there?" Delta tilted his head, a frown pulling at his lips. He hadn't seen any sign of Lydia, but that didn't mean she wasn't there.

"I didn't see her, but I did see something else I found interesting..." That quickly caught Alpha's interest, and the woman stared at him for a long moment. Delta took this as a sign to go on, "These people... they seemed to be getting ready for something. Some kind of journey. Maybe a trade with the other communities."

"The scouts I sent to the other community said similarly," Alpha replied curtly, "there seems to be some kind of... festival being planned." Delta's eye widened to the size of saucers. Alpha didn't have to explain why she was telling him this. He knew perfectly well what this meant. 

"You want to attack them," Delta said. Alpha nodded, looking pleased that he picked up on her plan so quickly. She glanced around before ripping one of her knives out of the dead deer's stomach. 

"Yes, but not in the way we've done in the past," Delta cocked his head, curiosity thrumming through him. Alpha smiled at him from beneath her mask, sending an uneasy shiver down his spine. "I plan on sneaking into this... festival... when the time comes." 

Oh...

That... that couldn't be good.

"Why are you telling me this?" Delta questioned. 

Alpha raised a finger to silence him. "I was getting to that." Alpha reached into her pocket, pulling out a vial of some sort. She tossed it toward Delta, who caught it with great ease. "I want you to come with me, sneak that into a couple of the people's food or water. Once that vial is empty, sneak back out and meet Beta at the old barn a few miles west. Do you know which one I'm talking about?" Delta nodded -- he had passed by it a few times. "Good. You will find Beta and a few others waiting there. Stay with them until I come to find you all - got it?" Delta gave a quick nod, mulling over his orders. He stared down at the small vial Alpha had given him -- was it poison? Where would Alpha even get something like that? He didn't dare ask. 

Delta tucked the vial into his pocket. "What about the people of Hilltop? If they see me, won't they recognize me?" Alpha smiled serenely. 

"Don't get seen, and you won't have to worry about that." Alpha waved a hand at him. "Dismissed. I will find you when the time comes." 

Delta dipped his head in a sign of respect, turning around and quickly striding away. His mind was racing with all sorts of thoughts and ideas -- what was Alpha planning? This seemed so much different than any previous attacks the Whisperers made on other communities. Was it because these ones were bigger? Did Alpha want to take a different approach because they had more people? But that didn't seem like something Alpha would do. None of this seemed like something she would do. Carl tucked his hands into his pocket, fingers curling around the vial she had given to him. 

Doing a quick glance around, he ducked behind a nearby tree and out of sight. Slowly, he pulled the vial out, peering at its contents. It didn't look entirely like a liquid. More like a bunch of crushed plants and such with clumps swirling around in it... was that what it was? Just a bunch of plants. That would make sense. Alpha could have made a poison out of the plants of the forest.

But would he use it?

It's not like he would actively be killing anyone. All he had to do was slip some of this into a few people's food and water, and he would be good. He could just do it to people he didn't know. But that didn't sit well with him either. None of this did.

But what could he do? Maybe he could just dump the vial and pretend he used it. But what if Alpha had some way of finding out what he did. She would kill him if that happened. 

Carl had no idea what was going through that woman's head. Had no idea what she had in store for these communities. He had a horrible feeling forming in his gut, but he couldn't do shit about it. It's not like he could try and warn anyone -- people would notice if he disappeared without reason. 

Carl sighed, tucking the vial back into his pocket.

_This is going to end badly._

Carl just prayed that he and his family would still be alive by the end of it. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well DAMN 
> 
> This is certainly an eventful chapter.
> 
> holy SHIT I'm tired. 
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy, and if you see any errors somewhere in the text, please let me know.

_He's alive; he's alive; he's alive-_

His hands were trembling. 

_My son is alive._

Rick could hardly breathe.

_Carl is alive._

Rick should be overjoyed right now. He should be crying tears of joy -- he should be _happy._ His son was alive -- that was a miracle by itself, especially in a world like this one. His son had escaped the prison after the Governor's attack. He had survived the past eight or so years despite the many odds stacked against him -- _Carl_ was _alive_ ; he was _living_ and _breathing,_ and Rick should be happy. He should be packing his things to go out and try to find his son or running to try and find Michonne to tell her the good news, but right now, all Rick could feel was anger. 

Angry: Rick was angry at Daryl for hiding the fact that his son was alive despite having so many chances to tell him. At the Governor for separating him and Carl in the first place and causing so much _grief_ and _loss_ and _pain_ within Rick and his family -- at Alpha for finding his son before he could and keeping him alive better than Rick had been able to. At Lydia for wearing that godforsaken hat even if she couldn't have known what it meant to him... He was so pissed off at so many people for so many reasons, but most importantly, Rick was pissed off with himself. 

He was pissed off because he had never looked harder -- had never tried looking for his son after what happened at Grady. He had given up on Carl: he had believed his son to be dead without any real evidence. Rick had left his son for dead, had left him all alone to fend for himself. His son had lost an _eye,_ had various scars all over his body, and had gone through who knows what over the past eight years, all because Rick just hadn't looked hard enough. And what's worse? Rick had lost Carl mere days after finding him again.

_Carl is Delta._

_Delta is Carl._

_My son is the same man who we traded to Alpha._

Rick stared at his violently shaking hands, disbelief flowing through him. 

How could he have been so blind? So stupid?

There had been so many signs that Rick had just ignored, things Rick had seen but had brushed off as hallucinations simply because he had been so afraid of being let down again. But now he couldn't stop thinking about it. Because how... how could that be? How could Carl be the same person who Rick had found creeping around the bridge less than a week ago? How could his son be the same man Rick had threatened to kill -- the same man Rick had taken hostage and interrogated? How could Carl be the enemy?

But most importantly, how could Rick have not recognized his own _son?_

Sure, it had been eight years, but if Daryl had been able to figure out who Carl was in less than three days, why couldn't Rick? 

Rick took in a shaky breath, rubbing a hand over his tear-stained face. He didn't know why he was asking himself this; he already knew. Carl had been a child the last time Rick had seen him, merely fourteen or so years old. But now, his son was an adult -- adulthood always changes people. And Daryl had always been a hundred times more observant than everyone else Rick knew, including himself, so of course his brother could have figured it out before anyone else did. 

But that didn't wash away any of the guilt. It didn't change the fact that Rick hadn't recognized his own _child._ Didn't change the fact that Carl was back in the hands of the enemy. Didn't change the fact that, after nearly a decade of grieving for him, Rick had lost Carl once again. It didn't take away the words Rick had said to him, didn't take away the things he had done and-

Oh god -- Rick had _hit_ Carl.

He had hit... he had... He had _hit_ his _son._ Had hit him hard enough to leave a _bruise._ An image of Carl's face mere moments after the strike had landed came to mind -- he had looked shocked, dazed, hurt, and even... there had even been a hint of _fear_ in his son's expression. Rick felt sick to his stomach, and the whole world appeared to be spinning as he lurched over on his hands and knees and vomited all over the infirmary floor, his stomach contracting painfully. 

The taste of vomit in his mouth was disgusting, but Rick couldn't stop. Eyes closed, he heaved and heaved until there wasn't anything left to throw up. Then, Rick fell back onto his knees, body shaking. A shiver ran down his spine, and he took in a shaky breath, staring at the mess he made with wide eyes. His hands were trembling, and that realization was followed by another, equally as chilling one.

His hands hadn't trembled in a long time. 

"Dad?"

Rick's head jerked up so fast he could have sworn he heard a crack. His eyes dart around the room frantically, eventually landing on the small figure in the doorway. As soon as he saw who it was, Rick felt most of the tension leave his body, and he stumbled to his feet, his legs already threatening to fail beneath him.

"Judith, what are you doing here?" Rick asked hoarsely, wiping a hand across his mouth.

"Mom is looking for you," The girl answered simply, tilting her head as she took a step inside. His daughter's eyebrows were furrowed, dark eyes staring curiously up at Rick. The expression on her face was eerily similar to the look Carl would get around her age whenever he got confused about something, which at the time was usually math or some other kind of schoolwork. That realization was followed by a fresh wave of pain.

"Is she now?" Rick asked, trying hard to keep his voice from shaking. 

Judith nodded, turning around and quickly closing the infirmary door. She turned back. "She said you were probably done talking to Daryl and that I should come and get you." At the mention of the archer's name, Rick flinched, something that clearly did not go unnoticed by Judith if the narrowing of her eyes said anything about it. Her gaze then wandered down to the pile of vomit on the floor, and her eyes widened. "Are you sick?"

"I'm fine, little bird," Rick said dismissively, giving her a smile, though it came out as more of a grimace if anything, "I think it was something I ate. Nothing to worry about."

Judith didn't look the slightest bit convinced. "You look like shit," she deadpanned, and in any other situation, Rick would have scolded her for swearing, but he didn't have the energy to do that right now. 

"I know," he said instead because honestly, he didn't doubt it.

Judith's eyes narrowed again, clearly sensing that something was off. She had always been observant like that. "Uh-huh."

Rick sighed, taking a few steps forward and kneeling down in front of her. "Judith, really, I'm fine. Just..." he paused, struggling for the right words, "-just thinking about the past, I suppose." 

Understanding immediately filled Judith's eyes. "Oh," she said, eyes dropping down to her feet, "okay..." There was a look of uncertainty on her face, and Rick could tell that she still wasn't entirely convinced. Despite that, she didn't ask any more questions about it. That itself was enough for Rick. 

He was prepared to get up again -- to clean his mess up and go find Michonne -- when suddenly, Judith darted forward, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. Taken by surprise, Rick stiffened for a split second, but once he realized what she was doing, he didn't hesitate to return the favor. He pressed a kiss to her hair, trying to draw some kind of comfort as thoughts about his son raced through his mind.

After a few seconds, Judith moved away. "Is that better?" She asked.

"Much better," Rick said, smiling at her again. This one felt a little more real. 

* * *

Despite managing to convince his daughter he was fine, he knew that Michonne would never fall for the same act. And as expected, the moment Rick had entered the living room with Judith, his wife immediately sensed that something was wrong. Michonne turned away from where she had been wiping what looked like dirt off of RJ's face. She stared at Rick for a long moment, her lips pursed as she looked him up and down -- there's a question in her eyes. _Are you okay?_

Rick gave a small, nearly undetectable shake of his head. He didn't see the point of lying about it, especially to her; Rick knew that hiding Carl's identity from Michonne would be impossible. She would see right through any lie he tried to give. And Rick didn't want to hide it from her anyway -- she and Carl had been pretty close back at the prison. Michonne deserved to know. 

Though her eyes flickered with concern and worry, she didn't say anything out loud. Instead, she turned to Judith, saying something about needing to cut her hair. Rick breathed a sigh of relief as Judith began to protest. He was glad that Michonne didn't choose to ask him about it now -- Rick didn't think that having that conversation in front of the kids was a good idea. While a large part of him knew that Judith and RJ would want to know that their older brother was alive, he didn't want to get their hopes up if something... if something... if _bad_ happened to Carl. 

Rick took in a shaky breath. 

"Daddy, Daddy, look!" RJ cried out, running right up to Rick and holding out a piece of paper. "Look at what I drawed!"

"Drew not drawed," Judith corrected. RJ ignored her. 

Rick kneeled down in front of his youngest son, smiling as he took the drawing into his hands. It didn't take long for him to realize what it was. "A rainbow? Very cool, RJ!" His gaze darted all over the paper, eventually landing on the six stick figures standing in the middle right below the rainbow. "Is this us?"

"Mhm!" RJ nodded rapidly, moving to Rick's side. "That's Mama, that's you-" he pointed to the tallest figure, "-the one right there is Judith, and that's me-" he then directed a chubby finger at the smallest stick figure, a proud smile on his face. Rick couldn't help but compare the look on RJ's face to how Carl looked at his age. Despite their many differences in appearance, they both shared the same smile. 

"And who are these two?" Rick asked, pointing to the last two figures. One was the same size as RJ, while the other was only a little shorter than Michonne. The longer he stared, Rick began to realize just who they were. "Is this Andre and Carl?" His voice cracked a bit when he said his son's name, and when he glanced up, he saw Michonne stiffen for a split second at the mention of Andre. 

RJ nodded again, looking a tad nervous. "Yeah. Do... do you like it?"

He smiled down at RJ, trying to appear reassuring when really, his heart was shattering into pieces. "I love it." He pressed a kiss to his son's forehead. "It looks just like them."

Once again, RJ beamed. "I made more! Do you want to see?"

"I would love to!" Rick agreed, and RJ's whole face lit up.

"I left them in my room, c'mon!" RJ grabbed Rick's hand, tugging on it insistently. Rick climbed up to his feet, letting RJ pull him to the door. Before they left the room, Rick glanced over at Michonne, who met his gaze calmly. She made a quick gesture toward the door with her hand, one so fast that he probably would have missed if he hadn't known her for as long as he had. He knew what it meant, or at least, he had an idea. 

_We'll talk about it later._

And so they would.

* * *

RJ was a very artistic kid, and that was something that Rick had known for quite a while -- his son loved to draw, and a good portion of his drawings were hung up all over the house. Rick just hadn't realized exactly how much he drew until he was in his room, looking through the large chest Beth had found on a run a few years ago for RJ to store his things. 

It was nearly filled to the brim with drawings.

It took an hour to get through half of them. And by that time, Rick needed some air. Needed to get outside. Needed to talk to Michonne. Rick couldn't stay in there for another hour. There was too much on his mind. 

Still, he stuck around for a little longer before leaving RJ to play with his toys. He went down the stairs, pausing as soon as his foot landed on the last step. His eyes landed on an old photograph they had hung on the wall -- crumpled and worn with age, but the contents of it were enough to make his heart shatter all over again. 

It's a photo of Rick, Lori, and Carl. The one that Carl had found sometime after Lori had died. _Judith deserves to know what her mother looks like._ That's what his son had said when he had shown it to Rick, or at least, something like it. Little did they know that, nearly a decade later, that photo would be the only reason Judith and RJ even knew what their brother looked like. 

Maybe that wouldn't be the case for much longer.

Rick stayed there for five minutes, just staring at their smiling faces who had no idea how horribly their lives were about to change. When had they even taken that? He couldn't remember. 

He had changed so much since then...

His mind wandered to Carl, to the young man that Rick had captured at the bridge and then to the twelve-year-old boy he had been when the world first went to shit. 

They _all_ had changed so much...

Rick tore his eyes away after a few minutes, taking in a shuddering breath. 

That's when Michonne appeared.

She turned the corner, and as soon as she spotted him, her brows furrowed. Then, her gaze landed on the photograph. 

For a few seconds, the two of them were silent. 

Michonne cleared her throat, breaking the silence. "Judith's outside playing with Gracie." 

"That's good," Rick said, "RJ's playing with his toys upstairs."

Michonne nodded, eyes drifting toward the staircase.

"Rick..?" She said softly, her eyes filled with concern.

Rick stared at her. "Chonne..." 

"What's wrong...?" Rick looked away, already feeling the tears welling up in his eyes. Michonne rested a hand on his shoulder, and when he looked at her, the expression on her face was one of worry. "Baby, talk to me."

"I-" Rick swallowed down the lump in his throat. His hands have already started shaking again. "Carl's alive," he choked out. 

"Wh...what..?" Michonne pulled her hand away from his shoulder, her face slack with shock. But as soon as she registered what he said, her expression melted into one of disbelief and confusion. Then, her eyes hardened, and she put a hand on his arm. "Rick... tell me what happened," she whispered. 

"Daryl... he told me-" he cut himself off, his throat closing as he struggled to get the words out, "Delta is Carl. Daryl somehow found out at some point and..." Rick squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his composure shatter for the second time that day, "he hid it from me, Chonne... the only reason I found out was because I saw that girl - Lydia - wearing Carl's old hat and-" 

Rick buried his head in his hands. "I left him, Michonne. I left my son all alone out there when I could've kept looking! I... I fucking _hit_ him."

He felt Michonne put a hand on his back. "You couldn't have known," she whispered, her voice unbelievably soft. 

"Did you see him?" Rick whispered. "He was covered in scars, Chonne. His _eye_ is _missing!"_

Just thinking about what his son might have gone through over the past eight-ish years made his heart crack and his guilt grow. What happened to Carl's eye? How did he get those burns? And Daryl had mentioned the scars he had seen on Carl's arms when he had moved him to the cellar -- his son had _cut himself_ at one point. And the lash marks Daryl had seen on both Lydia and Carl's arms... they had to have been caused by a person.

Rick swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat.

While Rick had been living life happily in Alexandria with Michonne, Judith, RJ, and everyone else, Carl had been out there surviving by the skin of his teeth. While Rick had a warm bed to sleep in and four walls surrounding him, Carl slept in the dirt and didn't even have fences to keep the walkers away. While Rick had multiple warm meals every day, his son had been thin as a stick and obviously didn't get enough food. While Rick had his friends and family with him, the people Carl was with were batshit crazy -- and their leader, Alpha or some shit, clearly harmed the members of her group. 

Carl had gone through so much simply because Rick hadn't tried looking harder. 

This was all his fault.

Michonne was quiet for a few seconds. He wondered what she was thinking. 

Then, she hugged him.

"I know what you're thinking right now," she whispered into his ear, "but it's not true. It's the Governor's fault, not yours."

Rick sniffed, biting down on the inside of his mouth hard enough to bleed. The metallic liquid seeped onto his tongue. "I can't... I can't believe he's still alive after all this time..." he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "I mean, a part of me always hoped that one day he would come walking through those gates, but I knew that would never happen. I guess I just thought..."

Michonne squeezed him tighter, holding him closer as Rick struggled to get the right words out. When he didn't speak for a minute or two, she pulled away slightly, and when Rick opened his eyes, she's looking up at him with the saddest of expressions. She placed a hand on his cheek, and to his surprise, he could see tears shining in her eyes. 

She brushed away the curls falling in his eyes. Leaned up and pressed a kiss to his temple. 

That's when Rick broke.

His legs failed beneath him, and he collapsed onto the floor, accidentally bringing Michonne down with him. She didn't seem to care, however -- just holding him in her arms as he broke down for the second time that day. Sobs force their way out of him, and at this point, he didn't try to hold them back. He just cried and cried and cried -- gasping and nearly choking on his own sobs as everything around him seemed to shatter.

"It's going to be okay," Michonne whispered, and it took him a second to realize that she's crying too, "he's going to be okay. We all are."

* * *

The sun was high in the sky now, and it wasn't nearly as windy as it was yesterday, which was a relief. Lydia kept her hair in a ponytail just in case things got bad again, though. She didn't want to accidentally eat her hair every few seconds whenever it blew into her face. That was an experience she did not want to repeat anytime soon; thank you very much. 

The group kept a slow pace as they walked through the woods, mainly because no one wanted to push Henry or Hershel too far. While Hershel wasn't injured like Henry was, the kid had smaller legs, and he was also walking slower than he usually did -- though that might be because he was worrying about Glenn, who they had left at Alexandria to heal.

Lydia walked a few feet behind Daryl, who was at the front of the group. The archer hadn't said a single word to any of them since they had started walking -- Lydia could tell that he had something on his mind. Daryl had been acting weird for over a day now, and she hadn't been blind to the way that Michonne had glared at the man when she had been seeing them off -- something had happened, but she wasn't sure what that 'something' was.

Lydia glanced behind her, meeting the gaze of Henry, who was near the back of the group with Connie -- the woman was letting the blond lean on her to help him walk. Henry gave her a small smile, which Lydia nervously returned. She then looked back to where Daryl was. Before she could convince herself not to, she found herself jogging up to the archer, who looked up at her approach. 

"What?" The man grunted, looking annoyed. 

"What did you talk to Rick about?" Lydia asked, referring to yesterday when the two men had sent both Henry and Lydia away to talk. That was around the time that Daryl started acting weird if she was remembering things correctly. Which she was. 

Daryl stiffened almost instantly. "None of yer damn business," he practically snarled.

Lydia frowned but pressed on nonetheless. "Was it about Delta?" Should she start calling him Carl? 

Daryl glared at her. "I said, it's none of yer damn business."

"Okay then," Lydia said, sensing that this was most likely the end of the conversation. That meant she _probably_ shouldn't push it. 

To her surprise, though -- it wasn't.

After a few minutes of silence, Daryl cleared his throat, quickly catching Lydia's attention. "How long he been with you guys, anyway?" It didn't take long for her to realize what he was asking. Or who he was asking about.

Lydia shrugged, knowing better than to try and count the years. The math often gave her a headache, something that Delta would always laugh about. _Math fucking sucks;_ she remembered him saying once, _you're lucky you never had to learn multiplication_. "I dunno, couple years, definitely. He was one of the first members. Beta found him, actually."

"Really?" Daryl asked, picking up his pace somewhat. If the archer was at all surprised by this new information, he didn't let it show. 

"Yeah," Lydia confirmed, quickening her strides to keep up with him, "don't ask me how. I really can't remember all that well. I just know that Delta was with a group that was killed by another group and that Beta found him injured in the forest." She chose not to mention that by 'injured,' she meant 'missing an eye and unconscious.' 

"What's with the title 'Delta,' why do they call him that?" Daryl asked next, glancing down at her as they walked, "-sounds kinda stupid."

_Is this turning into an interrogation now?_ Lydia pondered. "It's from the Greek alphabet, I think." Or at least, that's what her mother had said the one time Lydia dared to ask about it. Lydia didn't really get the chance to learn about it before the world went to hell. "Delta is the fourth letter, and since Delta's the fourth in command..." Lydia trailed off, knowing that Daryl would get her point. 

Daryl nodded, face totally blank as he processed this information. "Tha' why yer mother calls herself Alpha?"

"Yeah."

Daryl shook his head. "You people are creepy as shit, I hope you know that." 

"Yeah, I know." Lydia agreed. She saw no point in arguing about it. Daryl snorted, and the two of them fell silent. 

After a few minutes, Lydia found herself slowing down until she was walking beside Hershel, who was kicking up clumps of leaves and dirt with his feet. Lydia didn't think she had ever seen the kid look so sad; it was kind of unsettling. A part of her wondered if she should try and comfort him, but Lydia didn't know how to do that. Delta always had been better at the whole comforting thing than Lydia was. Should she try and talk to Hershel? Hug him, maybe?

A few more minutes passed, and finally, Lydia opened her mouth, preparing to try and talk to Hershel, when the sound of approaching horses suddenly caught her attention. She glanced around, a hand moving to her knife, and she saw that Daryl was doing the same. The man motioned for them to stop, and he peered through the branches, his whole body taut with tension. 

Then, he relaxed. 

The sound of horses was nearer now, and when Daryl gestured for them to start moving again. As Lydia stepped out of the trees into a small dirt pathway, two horses came into view, pulling what looked like some kind of makeshift wagon with a group of both familiar and unfamiliar faces sitting inside. Lydia recognized both Rick and Michonne among the faces, and she watched as Daryl tensed up all over again, quickly moving his gaze away from the group.

Lydia narrowed her eyes, but before she could think about the implications of this, her attention was quickly pulled away as a young girl around the age of nine or ten popped her head out from behind Michonne. The girl had long, dark hair, and something about her felt eerily familiar to Lydia, though she couldn't quite figure out why. 

"Anyone headed to Kingdom?" The girl asked, grinning cheekily. 

That's when the realization slammed into her. 

_Oh._

* * *

Daryl knew at this point to expect the worst out of every situation. Ever since he was a child, it had been ingrained into his mind. 

No matter how perfect something seems, all it takes for one small thing to make it all go wrong -- like how the weakest of winds could send a house of cards toppling down. 

He had been hoping that wouldn't be the case for the fair -- that things would be okay for once, but he should have fucking _known._

Things started off pretty okay at first. In fact, it started off wonderfully. People were laughing and having fun -- kids were running around as their parents watched on fondly. Daryl spent some time with Beth and Anne, talked to Judith for a bit, and in all, everything seemed like it would go well. He even saw Henry showing Lydia around at one point, and the two teens had been smiling. 

But of course, things couldn't have stayed that way. They just _had_ to go wrong. 

Hilltop could possibly be in danger. Obviously, Maggie and Tara would not stand for this, and the leaders had all come to an agreement to send a small group of soldiers to Hilltop to keep it safe if the skin freaks decided to attack. Daryl, Carol, Michonne, Rick, and a couple others had left to go to Hilltop, and that was why he was riding through the forest on his motorbike as Michonne glared holes into his back while Rick pretty much refused to look at him. 

If Carol noticed the tension hanging in the air, which she definitely did, she didn't say a word about it. Daryl found himself both thankful and annoyed at this. Still, the journey was pretty calm besides that, but that didn't stop the guilt from growing whenever he looked at Rick or Michonne, who had obviously been informed about the situation if the way she glared at him said anything about it. 

He kept his motorbike a little bit ahead of the horses, far enough away that he wouldn't be forced to talk to anyone but still close enough that he would hear if one of them shouted or needed help. Apparently, he hadn't gone far enough ahead because it only took twenty or so minutes for someone to trot up to him. And when he looked up, he was understandably surprised when he saw Rick there, sitting atop a black horse that Daryl and Aaron had caught years ago when they had first come to Alexandria. Buttons was her name -- she was an older mare with gray hairs on her muzzle; a skittish thing too. 

How the fucking horse had managed to survive longer than most people he knew was still a mystery to him. 

"Daryl," Rick said quietly, nodding his head in greeting. His brother's face was pale, and he still refused to look Daryl in the eye, but the fact he was even talking to Daryl for some reason made up for it. 

"Rick," Daryl greeted.

The two of them were silent for a minute or two.

"Gonna assume tha' Michonne knows," he said, sparing a quick glance behind him.

Rick smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, she does."

"Explains why she's glarin' at me the way she is," Daryl mused. 

Another minute of silence.

Daryl couldn't stand it. 

"Rick, m'sorry," Daryl found himself blurting out, his knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping the handle of his bike, "-for not telling you 'bout Carl sooner. I know I should'a, but I didn't. And I ain't gonna try and make any excuses for what I did, cause you 'ave every reason t'be mad at me. And if y'hate me, that's fine, but I just-"

"I don't," Rick said suddenly, cutting Daryl off, "-hate you, I mean. I'm mad at you, obviously - hell, I'm fucking _pissed-"_ Daryl flinched "-but I could never hate you." He heard Rick sigh, but he still refused to look at him. "Can you just..." his brother trailed off, clearly struggling to find the right words for his question, "do you know why he didn't tell me? Why he hid everything? Was it something I did?" Rick's voice cracked as he reached the last few words, and when Daryl snuck a glance over at him, the look on his face was raw with pain.

Daryl felt his heart ache. "Nah, you didn't do nothin' wrong," he assured him, looking back toward the road, "he didn't want to hurt you." He could practically _feel_ the look that Rick was giving him, but he ignored it, instead thinking about the conversation he and Carl had mere moments before Alpha came to Hilltops gates. "He thinks you'll hate him if ya learned about the shit he's done," he said slowly, recalling Carl's words, "told him it was bullshit, but he didn't believe me."

"He's my _son,"_ Rick whispered, his voice breaking as he spoke, "I could never hate him. I don't care that he's killed people - we all have done things we regretted." There was a pause. Then Rick whispered, "I just want to see him again..."

Oh.

Well.

That was one way to shatter Daryl's heart to pieces. 

"You will," Daryl assured him, glancing over at his brother, "Carl's smart, Rick. He'll be alright. Just gotta wait." 

Rick stared at him. "For how long, though?"

Daryl didn't have a response to this.

* * *

A few more minutes passed in silence, and at the end of those few minutes, they had come across a curious sight. A group of men was killing walkers, and while Daryl recognized one of the men, the rest were total strangers. And a few feet away from them was an overturned wagon, one that Daryl recognized from Hilltop. 

What happened here?

Daryl got off his bike, eyes narrowing as the men approached. His hand twitched toward his belt, where he kept his knives, but Carol trotted ahead on her horse. To his surprise, she seemed to know the men and greeted them as she dismounted her horse. The rest of the group got off their horses as well, and though most of them eyed the unknown men warily, the fact that Carol knew them eased their minds a bit.

"What happened here, Ozzy?" Carol asked one of the men, eyes sweeping over the scene before her. 

The man -- Ozzy -- gestured for the group to follow him. He led them to the overturned wagon. "We were clearing the roads," he explained, "-spotted tracks leading here."

Magna leaned down, picking up something that had been lying on the dirt. She inspected it for a few seconds, a grim look crossing her face. "It's from Hilltop," she said to the others. 

"Dead didn't do this," Ozzy said, his face equally as grim, "people did."

That caught quite a few people's attention. "The skins?" Michonne asked the man now kneeling in the dirt, her eyes narrowing. "You know about them?"

"We got the download," Ozzy said, glancing around, "strange times, strange ways to cope. Anyway, yeah. That'd be my guess. If anyone else was out here, my patrols would've seen 'em. Something else... they put up a fight."

Daryl moved away from the group while Ozzy talked, eyes darting around for any possible clues to tell what happened here. It didn't take him long at all to notice the marks in the dirt -- a clear sign that someone had been dragging something heavy through the undergrowth. And Daryl had seen enough of these throughout the years to know just what had been pulled through here. 

"Hey," he called to the group, "drug 'em out this way." He glanced over his shoulder as Rick approached.

"Let's go," Kal said, already starting off in that direction.

"Wait, we can't all just go rushing in there," Rick said, resting a hand on Kal's shoulder to stop him, "we need to be smart about this."

"They could still be alive," Dianne, a woman from Kingdom, argued.

"But if those skin freaks followed them from Hilltop, the whole community is in danger right now," another man (Marco?) added. 

The group was quiet for a second. 

"So, we split up," Michonne said. Immediately, Carol started nodding her agreement.

"Michonne and I can go with Daryl and Rick. We'll track 'em," Carol said, a plan forming as she spoke, "the rest of you, go on to Hilltop."

No one was arguing. That's good.

"We'll keep our patrols around the Kingdom. Just in case," Ozzy offered, still kneeling on the ground, "course, this means you owe us a couple of movies when this is done."

The fuck was that supposed to mean? 

Daryl looked to Carol, expecting some kind of explanation. The woman just smiled.

"I'm sure I can work that out."

* * *

Lydia and Henry made their way through one of the many walkways of the Kingdom, watching as people laughed and chatted with one another -- there was singing in the distance, and Lydia didn't think she had ever seen the world look so at peace before in her life. With the Whisperers, there was never a moment where they could just lie around and enjoy the scenery. There was always something to be doing: hunting, herding the guardians, cooking... 

But here at the fair, people didn't have a care in the world. They didn't have to worry about what might be beyond the walls: they didn't worry about looking over their shoulder every few seconds, didn't worry about being attacked suddenly... They were just living happily, something that Lydia had very, very little experience with. She could hardly remember a time before the guardians, and the memories she did have were blurred and tainted by her mother's words. 

Before, she had been relieved that she couldn't remember much of the old world -- her mother had taught Lydia that remembering the world before guardians was a weakness and that she should be glad to live in a world filled with only the strong. But she had heard things from the adults in her pack and a little bit from Delta, and now, as she stood in the middle of the fair with Henry, Lydia was finally starting to realize just what she missed out on -- what she could still be a part of. 

Lydia and Henry paused as a group of kids rushed by, laughing as they passed a ball between them. Lydia could easily recognize Hershel and Anne in the mix, and the two cousins appeared to be bickering as they ran. But there were smiles on their faces, and after witnessing how upset Hershel had been earlier, seeing the kid smiling was a comforting sight. Lydia glanced around, half expecting to see Maggie watching from a distance. She didn't see the older woman anywhere, but that didn't mean she wasn't around.

Lydia's gaze returned to the group of kids just in time to see Hershel tackle an older girl, Judith, to the ground. The two kids tumbled for a bit, and when they stopped, they both were laughing. That was another thing that lingered at the back of her mind -- Judith, who Lydia was around ninety-nine percent sure was Delta's younger sister. She could certainly see the resemblance between the two. It was near uncanny, really.

Once again, a pang of sadness and worry filled her at the thought of Delta. She had been trying not to think about him for long, not wanting to let her thoughts linger on where he might be, if he was even alive. While she had first been relieved that he hadn't been with the group Beta brought, she was now starting to wish he had been there. At least then she would know whether he was okay or not.

She sighed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and adjusting Delta's hat on her head. A cool breeze blew past, and she took a hair tie from her wrist (given to her by Connie) and put her hair back in a ponytail. She felt Henry tap her on the shoulder, and she turned toward the blond, who was fidgeting nervously from where he stood beside her. 

"Do you like it?" Henry blurted out, a faint flush covering his cheeks as they started walking again. 

She smiled at him. "It's nice." She glanced around again. "How did you even get all this?"

"We, uh, gathered most of it," Henry said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, "there's stuff that belongs to each community. Like Earl, he brought spears and things he, Alden, and I made back at Hilltop. Alexandria brought bullets and medicine. Oceanside brought fish-" Henry shrugged, "-they're all contributing in their own ways."

"I used to think that things like this weren't possible," she admitted, "it's nice to see I was wrong." She then snorted, a fond smile covering her face. "God, never tell Delta I admitted I was wrong about something. He'll never let me forget it."

Henry chuckled. "Your secret is safe with me."

"Oh? Are we keeping secrets now?" A third voice questioned, and the two teens jumped, whirling around. Lydia found herself relaxing when her eyes landed on Beth, who was jogging up to them, a bag filled with what was probably medical supplies pulled over her arm. Briefly, Lydia noticed Beth's gaze flickering up to Delta's hat on her head, but the action was so quick that Lydia wondered if it had even happened. 

"No, Beth," Henry said as Beth pulled to a stop in front of them, "we were just joking around." Henry then frowned, glancing around the crowded fair. "I thought you were with Enid and Siddiq - didn't you guys have a station of some kind set up?"

"We do," Beth said, shrugging -- the metal of the blonde's missing hand glinted in the sunlight, "but we're taking turns. We all want to spend some time doing other things, after all." 

"That's fair," Henry said, "I don't think I would be able to stand behind a station all day when there's so much else to be doing." 

"Exactly!" Beth exclaimed, blue eyes twinkling. Her gaze then moved to something behind Lydia. "I see the kids are having fun," She mused, lips twitching into an amused smile. Lydia glanced behind her just in time to see Anne jump onto Judith's back, and while the other girl stumbled a bit, she didn't fall. 

Lydia turned back to face Beth, "seems like it."

Something in Beth's expression changed suddenly. "Have you guys seen Maggie by any chance?" She asked, eyebrows knitting together with worry. "She promised to meet me by the gate so we could spend some time together, but I can't find her anywhere."

Henry and Lydia exchanged looks. 

"I think I saw her talking to Tara by the archery area," Henry said slowly, looking as if he were deep in thought, "but that was around an hour ago. So I don't know if she's still there." The worry on Beth's face only grew, and Henry quickly added: "I'm sure she's okay, though. She's probably just busy."

"Right," Beth heaved a sigh, running a hand through her hair, "well, I best be off. You guys enjoy the fair."

"You too!" Henry called as Beth began to walk away. 

He turned back to Lydia, clearing his throat. "So..." he shuffled his feet nervously, "want me to show you around? We probably won't get to see the whole community in one day, but thankfully we have a few days to enjoy the fair."

Lydia smiled. "That would be nice." 

* * *

Sneaking into the fair was disturbingly easy.

Like, really easy.

Obviously, he saw a few guards at the main gate, but avoiding them was pretty simple. All Carl had to do was go to the back of the community where little people were and climb the walls. Granted, it took him a few minutes to actually get to the top, but he managed just fine. It was honestly kind of concerning that it was this easy for him to scale the walls. He had been expecting better security out of these people. Since this community was the one hosting a fair, one would think they would have at least a few more guards to keep everyone safe.

While he was climbing the walls to sneak inside, Carl had no idea how Alpha was getting in or where she even _was._ But he knew better than to think about it for long. Right now, his mission was to get in, sneak this poison into a few people's food or drinks, and get out without being caught. The sooner he did it, the better. Thinking about what Alpha may or may not be doing right now wouldn't do anything to help him. He just needed to focus.

The moment his feet touched the ground, Carl took a look around. He was behind a building of some kind, and there wasn't a single soul in sight. Despite that, he could clearly hear people laughing and chattering happily somewhere nearby. Carl felt a grim smile cross his face; these people had no idea what was coming for them. While Carl still didn't even know the full plan himself, he had no doubt that, by the time the next day rolled around, some of these people wouldn't even be alive.

He should probably feel a little more guilty about that.

Carl shook his head, taking out the vial of poison from his pocket. A part of him was still tempted to just smash it right here, but Carl shoved that urge down with little trouble. He crept around the community for a few minutes, trying to get a good idea of its layout before he started with the poison. He made sure to keep out of sight as he moved -- Carl might have washed most of the dirt off of him and changed into some clean clothes, but if anyone saw him, they still might make the connection, especially the people of Hilltop. 

His scars were pretty noticeable, after all. It's not every day you saw someone with a missing eye and a burn on their face. All it would take for one person from Hilltop to see those scars, and he would be done for. 

As Carl looked around, he couldn't help but let his gaze linger on the smiling faces among the crowd -- people were laughing and singing and playing around... just having fun. Almost as if the world around them wasn't taken over by the dead. Kids were running around: playing tag and other games, and Carl watched as a little blonde girl tackled another little girl to the ground. Carl didn't think he'd ever seen people look this happy since... since before the world went to shit. 

Not even the people at the prison had been this happy. There had always been darkness hanging over them like a rain cloud, one that prevented them from actually enjoying themselves. Here, things were different, and if Carl didn't know any better, he would say that he had somehow traveled to ten years into the past -- to a time before the walkers, where people didn't have to look over their shoulder every few seconds, where trusting people came easy...

He could barely remember a time like that. Whenever he tried, things always came up blurry. Carl took in a shaky breath, trying his best to push those thoughts to the very back of his mind -- where they wouldn't resurface anytime soon. He had a job to do, after all. Getting distracted would be a mistake that would only make that job even harder, and something like that could prove fatal in the end. He needed to be on his toes if he wanted to get out of here undetected. 

So, with the vial in hand, he crept around some more, eye darting around for some kind of opening. He didn't know exactly how he was supposed to slip some of this poison into people's food and water, and Alpha had never specified how much of it he needed to put in: was it just a drop? Or would that not be enough to actually have any effect? At this point, Carl was kind of just winging it and praying that he wouldn't end his day with his head being removed from his body.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, his first opportunity came minutes later.

An older-looking man had left a bowl of salad on a table all alone to go talk to a group of teenagers who were causing a ruckus nearby. Carl glanced around, checking if anyone was looking his way, and slipped out from his hiding spot, trying to appear casual as he made his way over to the table with his head ducked down. He half expected someone to recognize him now that he was out in the open, but to his surprise, no one did. Carl just wasn't sure whether to be relieved by that or not.

As Carl pulled to a stop by the table, he was faced with yet another problem. How did he get the vial's contents into the salad? Carl glanced around, trying to appear nonchalant as his mind whirled. Carl shoved the hand holding the vial into his pocket, pretending to inspect one of the nearby stations as he tried coming up with ideas -- but there were so many people in the area, and the noise was near thunderous, which made it hard for him to concentrate. 

Then, the wailing of a baby split the air. Carl looked around, and he could see others doing the same. His gaze landed on an older woman rocking a baby in her arms, and that's when Carl realized he had an opening. As quick as a flash, he uncorked the vial, drizzling some of its contents into the bowl before quickly stuffing the vial back into his pocket. Carl peered inside, satisfied to find that the salad still looked relatively the same -- the chances of someone noticing the odd clumps of leaves inside were close to none. 

As the baby's wailing died down to the occasional whimper, Carl started walking away, his heart pounding as adrenaline pumped through his veins. A small part of him expected someone to come storming up to him, maybe having seen him put something in the salad, but no one did. Still, Carl kept his head down, trying to seem bored as he made his way through the thick crowd. He snuck a glance behind him just in time to see the old man returning to the salad. A thread of guilt started forming in his gut, but he shoved it back.

He couldn't be feeling guilty right now. He shouldn't be feeling guilty at all -- he didn't know these people, he didn't owe them anything. 

_But what if Dad does?_ Another part of him whispered. Carl tried to ignore it, quickening his pace and resisting the urge to flee. _What if Michonne or Daryl knows any of these people? What if your dad or Glenn, or Maggie know these people? What will they think of you if they learned you did this?_ Carl grimaced, shaking his head, but the onslaught of what-if's refused to relent. _Do you think any of them will accept you back if they learned what you're doing?_

He clenched his jaw, his hands curling up into fists in his pockets. The cool glass of the vial Alpha gave him brushed against his knuckles, and he resisted the urge to pull it out and throw it into the ground. He wanted nothing more than to destroy the vial, to watch it shatter into a million pieces so he wouldn't be able to hurt anyone else, but he couldn't. Because Alpha could be anywhere in the fair right now -- she could be watching him right now. And only Alpha knew what was in the vial; if she didn't see the results she wanted, she would know that Carl didn't use the vial, and he would be dead by the end of the night. 

Carl gritted his teeth. 

He made his choice.

Not that he really had one.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, he spotted another opening. Carl knocked over one of the stations, and while everyone was distracted with picking everything back up, drizzled some more of the vial's contents into a bowl of soup on a table nearby. Carl slipped away moments later, unseen. There hadn't been a single soul who saw what he did, and the vial in his pocket was now half empty. 

* * *

An hour later, another opportunity was spotted. Carl bumped into an old woman carrying a giant bucket of water, and she spilled it all over the man who was handing out food. The woman started apologizing profusely, and as the man was assuring her that everything was fine, Carl sprinkled a little of the vial's contents into one of the man's food bowls. 

* * *

Another opening. Carl started chatting with the woman handing out refreshments to those who needed them. Someone approached the table, asking for lemonade (how they even _had_ lemonade, he had no idea), and while the woman had her back turned, Carl took out the vial and let a single drop fall into one of the cups.

* * *

Carl tried not to feel guilty with every drop he let fall from the vial, but he couldn't help it. These people didn't deserve a single thing that's coming their way. While he didn't really know these people, the fact that his dad might was enough to make him falter. If one of these people ended up being his dad's friends, then what were the chances of him ever forgiving Carl? The possibility was low before, but now it's close to zero.

The sad thing was if he hadn't been aware that his dad and some of his old group were alive, he wouldn't even be hesitating right now. He wouldn't be feeling an ounce of guilt as he emptied the vial because these were Alpha's orders. Sure, he would try and help them a bit because Lydia liked them, but not to the degree that he currently was. 

The vial only had a few drops left now. Carl probably just had to do one more, and he would be done. He found the opening he needed half an hour later. He started chatting with a teen who looked a little lost, and when the teen turned her back, he emptied the rest of the vial into the plate of salad she had with her. By the time she had turned back around, Carl had already put the empty vial in his pocket. She was none the wiser about what he did, and as she took a bite, he quickly dismissed himself, trying not to feel guilty. 

* * *

As soon as Carl was out of view and out of earshot from anyone at the fair, he took out the vial and threw it into the ground -- immediately, it shattered, and tiny pieces of glass flew everywhere. He took in a shuddering breath, staring down at the now broken vial. It felt good to destroy it, but it didn't do anything to stop the guilt that swam through him. 

Carl ran a hand through his hair and then glanced up at the sky, which was no longer the bright blue it had been mere hours before. Instead, it was a black abyss with the occasional star twinkling from high above. He stood there for a few minutes before tearing his gaze away, shaking his head and shoving his hands into his pockets. He should probably get going -- Alpha wouldn't be pleased if he ended up being late for whatever the hell she had planned at the barn.

But just as he turned to the wall again, preparing to climb it, the sound of voices made themselves known somewhere nearby. Carl froze, his breath catching and his eye going wide. He jerked his head around, trying to figure out which way the voices were coming from. He stepped away from the wall, his shoulders tense as he picked up the sound of footsteps as well.

As the voices drew nearer, Carl crouched and hugged the wall, a hand darting to the knife in his belt. The voices and the shuffling of feet grew louder -- they were probably just around the corner now. He looked around wildly, trying to locate a place to hide. His eyes land on an overturned table lying in the shadows a few feet away. Why it was there, he had no clue, but he wasn't about to complain. 

He glanced in the direction the voices were coming, trying to discern whether or not he should hide or run. Making a decision, he darted over to the table, crouching behind it and ducking his head, praying that it would be enough. He reached for his knife just as the sound of violent coughing made itself known from somewhere to the left. Through the darkness, Carl could easily spy the shadowy figures of two people, one of them hunched over as their coughing fit worsened.

"Tara, are you sure you're okay?" A male voice asked, and the second figure, the hunched over one, waved a hand dismissively, but the coughing fit didn't cease. If anything, it only got worse. And Carl had a sinking feeling that he knew just what was happening here.

"M'fine, Alden," the woman, Tara, wheezed out between coughs, "let's just finish up with patrolling so we can get back to the fair. I don't want to miss the movie."

Right, the movie -- he could recall hearing a few people talking about it while he had been in the thick of the fair. He's still a little skeptical about it, though -- how did the people here actually get a movie working? Carl didn't know, and while he was definitely curious about it, he didn't dare ask any of the people he had talked to. The less interaction he had with them, the less guilty Carl would feel once this was over. 

"You keep saying that, but at this rate, you're going to cough up a lung," the larger figure, Alden, rested a hand on the woman's back, "you should go have Enid check you out. Or Beth. Or Siddiq."

"No, they came here to have fun," the woman insisted, "I don't... I don't want to ruin that just because of a stupid-" another bout of coughing interrupted the woman, and Carl watched as she stumbled, nearly falling to the ground. She regained control moments later, "-I don't want to ruin that 'cause of a stupid cough." 

Carl could hear the doubt in the man's voice as he spoke. "I doubt they'd care if you ruined it - plus, Rosita will kill me if she learned I made you do the patrol while sick."

Carl heard her scoff. "I'm not sick, Alden-" another cough, "-I was fine an hour ago. This will pass in a few minutes - now can we hurry up? I don't want to-" The woman started coughing again, but this time, it didn't seem to stop. She coughed and coughed and coughed, and Carl watched as the woman dropped to the ground, her body convulsing as blood flew from her lips.

_The poison,_ Carl realized right as the woman's body went perfectly still. 

"Tara!? Tara?!" The man dropped to his knees, shaking the woman's body as if trying to wake a sleeping person up. Carl watched as the man pressed his fingers to her neck -- searching for a pulse. Carl already knew that the man wouldn't find one, and he was proven right moments later when the man suddenly stumbled to his feet, face looking ashen even in the darkness of the night.

That's when Carl made his move.

Alpha said not to get seen, not to get caught, to sneak out before anyone realized what was happening. If this man, Alden, ran to get help, and if someone figured out that the food and water had been tampered with, Carl would have failed that mission. While Carl didn't want to hurt anyone his dad might know, he also didn't want Alpha to realize that he wasn't on her side anymore until the time was right. And if that ended up costing a few people their lives, then so be it.

So Carl darted forward, emerging from his hiding place, and grabbed the man by the hem of his shirt, yanking him back and, using every ounce of strength he had, threw him onto the ground. The man yelped, already starting to scramble back up to his feet, but Carl didn't give him the chance to. Instead, Carl lunged on top of him, pushing all of his weight into the man's chest. He then reached for his knife, wanting to put an end to this fight before it got out of hand. 

But to his frustration, the man wasn't going to go down without a fight. The man got over his shock in a matter of seconds and, with a mighty push, sent Carl flying off of him. Delta swore as he hit the ground but didn't waste a second in climbing back up to his feet, grabbing his knife from where it had dropped. He and the man got up at the same time, and for a moment, they just stared at each other. 

The other man's gaze flickered between Delta and the dead body of his friend. Even through the darkness, Delta could easily spy the look of realization and rage that crossed over his face. The man let out an enraged cry, running forward. Delta, having expected something like that, dodged the attack with great ease, slashing the man's arm as he hurtled past. 

The man swore, immediately pressing a hand to his arm, and Delta took full advantage of that distraction. He darted forward without a second's hesitation, grabbing the man by the hair and yanking his head back to expose his neck. Before the man could even blink, Delta had dragged the knife across his throat. Immediately, the man's body went limp, falling against Delta's chest. 

Delta stepped away, letting the body fall to the ground. Blood poured from his neck, and Delta turned his back to the body, wiping his bloody knife onto his pants. A low moan caught his attention, and Delta turned, watching as the woman's eyes snapped open -- only this time, her eyes were blank and lifeless, and her teeth clicked together as another groan escaped her dead lips.  


Sensing that it was time for him to go, Delta holstered his knife, walking up to the wall, and started to climb. 

* * *

Something was wrong.

Something was horribly, horribly wrong.

Lydia glanced around the crowded theatre, a frown pulling at her lips. Then, she looked down at the empty seat beside her, wondering where Henry was. The other teen had left to fix some pipes that had broken, but Lydia hadn't seen him even once since then. And that had been hours ago. While she had thought that he would at least show up for the movie, that clearly wasn't the case anymore.

After a few minutes, Lydia started wondering if Henry had ditched her. If maybe he had decided that she was weird after all and had abandoned her to sit with the other teenagers at the fair -- while a large part of her knew that he would never do that, another part of her couldn't help but doubt. She hugged her arms to her chest, glancing around the room once more. Her gaze lingered on the door, half hoping to see Henry walking in at any moment. 

But he didn't show, and Lydia was really starting to worry now.

She tried to focus her eyes on the images projected on the screen, tried to laugh along with everybody else and have fun for the first time in forever, but she was much too distracted to give the cartoon on the big screen her full attention. There was a horrible feeling forming in her gut, and she was praying that Henry would finally reappear so she could stop worrying. 

It seemed that luck wasn't on her side, however.

As the minutes wore on, there was no sign of Henry. Not even a trace. He didn't show up, and that bad feeling in Lydia's stomach only grew and grew. Her eyes did another sweep of the room, and she bit back yet another sigh when she still didn't spot Henry. She began to fidget in her seat, and she started wondering if she should get up to try and find him. 

She decided to wait a few more minutes for Henry to show. If he didn't, then she would go looking. With her choice made, she tried focusing her attention on the cartoon playing on the big screen. Soon, she found herself loosening up a little, and she smiled a wee bit when another bout of laughter echoed throughout the room. Lydia soon found herself totally absorbed, only to have her attention snatched away when, in the corner of her eye, she spotted someone taking the seat next to her -- then, a hand landed on her own. 

The smile faded from her face. Lydia immediately looked over to see a blonde-haired woman with a hat sitting beside her, the shadow cast by her straw hat obscuring a decent half of her face save for her lips and the tip of her nose. Despite the disguise, Lydia could recognize that face anywhere. It's the face that had tormented her for years on end. A pit of dread formed in her stomach, and Lydia found that she could hardly breathe. 

_How did she-_

Alpha stared at her before slowly, ever so slowly, lifting a finger to her mouth. 

* * *

Hands were pressed to her throat as Alpha slammed Lydia against a wall. 

The woman's hands moved to Lydia's arms, keeping her in place with a painfully bruising grip, and terror rose in Lydia's chest like a wave. She squirmed, her breathing heavy as she tried pressing herself further into the wall in a vain attempt to put some distance between she and her mother. If her mother noticed these attempts, which she definitely did, it didn't show on her face.

"You coward!" Alpha spat out, voice filled with venom and her face mere inches from Lydia's own. "You've betrayed our values. You're coming with me." 

"No," Lydia said immediately, doing a weak shake of her head. Before, she wouldn't have dared to disobey her mother, but now she was so _tired._ She was tired of being tossed around as if she were nothing more than a piece of trash, tired of being hit and slapped and yelled at -- she was tired of being pushed around, tired of being a part of the Whisperers. Lydia was tired of her mother controlling her life.

Henry had introduced her to a different way of life, had shown her that there was more to life than just surviving. He had shown her that she could be _happy_ and had made her realize she didn't have to follow her mother's lead anymore _._ Delta had taken punishments for her, had protected her, had been her friend for so long. Delta had risked his life to get Lydia away from her mother, and he might be dead right now because of her leaving him. She wasn't going back to her mother. Not now. Not ever. Not after everything she and so many others did to get Lydia away from her. 

"I believe in these people," Lydia whispered, staring right into her mother's eyes, which remained ice cold.

"That's poison talking," Alpha countered, and while a small part of her was screaming at Lydia to just go with her mother before anyone else got hurt, another part of her, the larger part, wanted to fight back.

She listened to that side. 

"I'm staying here," Lydia declared, watching her mother's face to see her reaction -- as expected, the woman's face remained carefully blank, Lydia continued. "They care about each other here," she said, fighting back the tears that were threatening to fall, "they care about _me."_

_Which is more than you've ever done for me_ \-- she wanted to say. 

She didn't.

"To keep me safe, they'd kill you," she said instead, "all I'd have to do is scream." Her mother leaned back slightly, and Lydia felt a flare of courage ignite in her chest. "Just walk away and leave me and everyone here alone, or I will. I'll scream." Her words were becoming dangerously close to a threat, but Lydia didn't care. Because right now, all she wanted to do was get far away from her mother. And if she had to threaten the woman to do that, then so be it. 

Alpha stared at her for a long moment, dropping Lydia's wrist. "I risked everything for you," she said softly, reaching up to cup Lydia's face in her hands. Lydia flinched away from the touch. Alpha either didn't notice or didn't care and even started petting Lydia's hair. "You're my bug. I was only doing the hard things mothers have to do to protect their young." With every word, her mother leaned closer, now holding Lydia's head in a painful grip. 

Lydia felt something inside her snap.

She shoved her mother away, yanking up her sleeve and displaying the various bruises and lash marks her mother had left on her arm. "Oh, I know what you've done," she snapped, holding her arm up to her mother's face, "I've had to live with it every day of my life-" she lowered her sleeve, rage burning through her as her voice began to break, "but I don't want these people to hurt you. I just want you to go."

The thing was, Lydia shouldn't care if her mother got killed, not after everything the woman had done to her. She should be thrilled if Alpha got killed because it would mean she wouldn't be tormented by her any longer. But Lydia wouldn't be. Because despite the horrible shit Alpha had done and said to her, the smallest part of Lydia would always remember the rare moments where Alpha would be kind to her, the rare moments where it seemed like she actually _cared_ and-

And-

"Please, Mama. I just want you to go," Lydia pleaded, blinking furiously to try and rid herself of the tears that were getting dangerously close to falling, "I'm giving you a choice... which is more than you've ever given me."

If this were another world, then maybe Alpha would feel guilty. If this were another world, Alpha would be hugging Lydia to her chest and begging for forgiveness. If this were another world, Lydia might actually have the chance to have a real mother. If this were another world, Lydia would have taken that chance because she just wanted her mother to be... her mother. 

But this wasn't another world. 

And Alpha didn't beg. She didn't feel guilt. 

Alpha leaned in, and Lydia could feel her breath on her ear. "I was just trying to make you strong," she whispered, pulling back to look Lydia in the eye. Her face twisted into an expression of bitter rage. "But you're not one of us. You never were."

Mere moments after she hissed out the last word, a low groan echoed across the empty street. Lydia froze when she recognized the sound, and from over Alpha's shoulder, she could just barely spy a shadowy figure slowly making its way out from a gap in one of the buildings. Long, dark hair hung from the figure's face, and while Lydia couldn't make out any of its features, she would recognize those sounds anywhere. 

Lydia felt dread curl in her stomach as another stumbling figure appeared behind the first. This one was larger -- a man, no doubt. And even through the darkness, Lydia could easily spy the blood and guts oozing out of its stomach, dripping onto the concrete. Neither of the guardians seemed to take any notice of the mother and daughter standing to the side. Instead, their attention was pulled to the sound of laughter coming from the theatre.

In front of her, Alpha smiled serenely. 

Three more stumbling figures emerged from behind buildings, and they followed the lead of the first two.

Lydia tore her gaze away. She stared at her mother. "What did you do," she hissed, terror rising in her chest as the possibilities raced through her. Did her mother make a hole in the walls somewhere? That didn't seem plausible -- there was no way anyone wouldn't have noticed that. The only realistic solution Lydia could think of was.... was killing people and not putting them down.

"Oh, I didn't touch any of those people out there," Alpha said dismissively, "that was all Delta-" Lydia froze, and Alpha's smile widened, "-he's always been quite stealthy, hasn't he?"

_Delta wouldn't do that,_ Lydia wanted to scream. But deep down, she knew that wasn't the case. Delta would do anything her mother said, no matter how much he might not like it. And if that meant killing some of the people in the fair to create a mini-herd to kill even more people, then so be it -- Delta didn't cower away from murder. Even when he had first joined the Whisperers, killing people had been like a second nature to him. 

Lydia watched as more and more guardians joined the first few, slowly but surely creating a herd. There couldn't be more than thirty or so, but that was enough to cause some damage if they got into the theatre. Lydia's mind wandered to Anne, to Hershel, Delta's little sister, and to all the other kids who were sitting inside. Her mind went to Beth, to all the people sitting inside there.

Were... were the doors of the theatre even closed?!

Lydia couldn't remember.

Alpha stepped away from Lydia, and she watched as the woman pulled out a skin from her shirt. "I'd get running if I were you," she whispered, pulling the skin on, "go warn them, tell them I was here - it's not going to stop what's going to happen."

Lydia didn't need any more prompting.

She ran.

She ran and ran and ran, dodging past some of the nearby guardians as she made her way toward the theatre. It felt like hours before she actually made it there, but she knew it couldn't have been more than a few minutes. She could hear the guardian's groans as she neared the theatre. The doors were wide open. 

She ran inside, grabbed the handles, and slammed it shut.

Immediately, all eyes in the theatre were on her.

"Lydia?" Beth called out, her voice soft and blue eyes wide with concern. She stepped forward, reaching out. "Lydia, what's wrong?"

"Walkers," Lydia whispered. 

It took only a single word for chaos to reign. 

* * *

Killing people was like a second nature for Carl; he had killed countless people throughout his lifetime -- children, teenagers, men, women. He had killed people who hadn't deserved it, killed people who were scared and begging for mercy, he killed people who had only been trying to protect their friends and family. And the thing was, he rarely ever thought twice about it. Never felt guilty, never regretted it, and never thought about who that person might have been before the world ended.

So why was this any different?

Why did he feel guilty about slipping that poison into countless people's food and drinks? Why did he feel guilty about slitting that man's throat and leaving him to turn? Why did the image of that woman falling to the ground, hacking and gasping and coughing up blood, keep replaying in his mind? Why couldn't he stop thinking about all the lives he had ended in one day? 

Maybe it's because there was a chance his dad might have known some of those people. It's easy for Carl to kill strangers, to kill people he didn't know because he had no reason to feel guilty about it. It was easier when he didn't know their names because, in a way, it made them seem less... human... if that made any sense. But maybe to his dad, these people weren't strangers. Perhaps he did know these people, that he was friends with some of them. Carl didn't know, and his mind was reeling because of it. 

Alden. That had been the man's name, right? And the woman... Tanya? Tara? Yes, her name had been Tara. Carl didn't know Alden or Tara, but that didn't stop the guilt from welling up within him. 

_What would Dad think of you now?_ A voice in his mind sneered. _What would Mom think of you? I doubt she'd be happy having a murderer as a son. In fact, she'd be disgusted._

_No, no, no, no, no --_ Carl squeezed his eye shut, taking in a shaky breath as he tried shoving those thoughts to the very back of his mind. He ran a hand through his hair, and a low groan pulled him back into reality. He looked up, watching as a walker stumbled out from a nearby tree. Carl, thankful for a distraction, strode forward, pulling out his knife still dripping with Alden's blood, and buried the blade deep into its skull. 

He tore it out, watching as the walker's corpse fell to the ground. Carl breathed in deep through his nose, sheathing his knife and continuing his walk. He had left the community and the fair behind around twenty minutes ago and was now trekking through the dark woods, making his way to the barn Alpha had said to go to once he finished. He tried not to let his mind wander to the countless people he had murdered in one day, wanting to focus on literally anything else.

He looked up at the dark sky, the full moon slowly but surely climbing up to its peak. It would probably be another hour or so before it was at its highest point. Carl tore his gaze away, a hand lingering on his knife as he did a quick glance around the area. Alpha had said not to bring his mask with him to the fair, that Beta would give it to him once he made it to the barn, so, in the meantime, Carl had to be on his guard if he didn't want any walkers sneaking up on him. 

In fact, Carl could hear a few walkers groaning in the distance right now, but they weren't close enough to worry him quite yet. The only thing he should be worrying about was Alpha and her mystery plan, which she hadn't fully shared with even Beta. All Carl knew about it was that she wanted to 'stake a claim' and 'make sure that those people knew not to mess with the Whisperers.' The second one he could get behind -- she wanted to make sure that the Whisperers were feared, that they were not to be messed with; hell, chances were that's why she had Carl sneak in the fair with the poison -- to kill some people and spread fear. But the first one was still confusing him. Stake a claim? What the hell did that mean?

Carl didn't know, and that's what was scaring him. What could 'stake a claim' mean? He tried straining his mind, tried to recall if she had ever said something about 'staking a claim' whenever they had been attacking other communities. His memory was a little blurred, but he was pretty sure that she hadn't. Plus, the other Whisperers had looked just as confused as he had felt when she first announced it was time to stake a claim. So it wasn't just him. 

Another snarl caught his attention, and Carl glanced up, seeing three walkers stumbling around a few feet away. They hadn't noticed him yet, and probably wouldn't at all if Carl didn't make any noise. But Carl was frustrated: he was confused, angry, conflicted, and just wanted to let out some steam. So, instead of just sneaking past them as any other person would, he pulled to a stop, taking out his knife again. Then, Carl let out a low whistle. As expected, the walkers immediately turned in his direction, teeth snapping and eyes gleaming in the darkness as they became aware of the living meal a few feet away from them. Carl grinned.

"Come on, you ugly pieces of shit," Carl taunted, and although the walkers were too dumb to tell what he was saying, the sound of his voice only spurred them on. All three of them lurched forward, low growls escaping them.

Carl just stood there for a few seconds, letting the walkers get close to him. As soon as the first one was within arm's reach, he gave it a hard kick in the knee, making its legs fail beneath it. Carl quickly moved to the second walker, shoving his knife through its jaw and ripping it out as soon as it went limp, not caring for the blood that sprayed over his face. As the third walker reached him, he gave it a hard kick in the knee, sending it toppling to the ground. Carl turned right as the first walker got back to its feet, striding forward and burying his knife deep into its skull. He dealt with the third one in the same manner.

When Carl was done, his chest was heaving. He stared down at the three rotting corpses before silently sheathing his knife. He started walking again. But after a few more minutes, Carl began to run instead. He knew that he would get to the barn whether he walked or not, but Carl didn't want to run the risk of getting there _after_ Alpha did. While Carl doubted she would kill him for being late, he didn't really want another set of lash marks on his arms. And while running was also a waste of energy to many, nearly a decade of surviving on the road gave him high endurance. One thing he could thank the Governor for, he supposed.

If this were before the end of the world, the night would be completely silent -- maybe an occasional animal call, but that was it. But it wasn't the old world anymore. No... instead, the nighttime was filled with the distant groaning of the dead, Carl's hard breathing, and his rapid footsteps as he ran through the thick undergrowth, dodging any walkers he came across and ignoring the cold winds that whipped at his face. 

After what was probably around fifteen or so minutes of running, he was finally able to see the silhouette of the barn in the distance. Carl slowed down some, to a jog instead of a full-on sprint. He could see the outline of a few Whisperers standing around, probably guarding the place -- that meant something important was inside. That only caused Carl's worry to grow. 

What could Alpha be planning?

As he drew nearer and nearer, he could start to see a faint light peaking through the gaps in the wood. That meant someone either got their hands on a flashlight or had put up some torches, probably the latter. Carl slowed down to a walk, breathing heavily as his lungs burned. He glanced up -- the full moon was nearly at its highest point now; that meant Alpha would be arriving soon if she wasn't here already. 

He prayed that she wasn't.

Carl trekked the rest of the way up to the barn in silence. He could tell the exact moment one of the guards noticed him. One of them knocked on the barn door, tilting their head back and murmuring something against the wood. Moments later, the door swung open, and the familiar, towering form of Beta stepped out. The giant of a man immediately started striding forward, and Carl pulled to a stop when Beta was only a couple feet away. 

"I see you've finally decided to show up." The large man said gruffly, reaching into his trenchcoat and pulling out a mask -- just as Alpha said he would. He held it out for Delta to take. "I assume everything went well?"

A faint smile pulled at Delta's lips. "You would be correct - got in and out without being seen. Had a bit of trouble near the end, but I took care of it. Is Alpha here yet?" Delta asked, taking the mask from Beta and pulling it onto his head -- for once not bothering to lace it up.

"She should be arriving shortly," Beta responded, turning his back to Delta, "now come. I do not want to be standing in the cold any longer than necessary." The second-in-command began to walk, and Delta quickly followed, though he had to lengthen his strides a tad to keep up with the giant of a man. 

"Aw, is the big bad Beta scared of a little cold?" Delta teased, and if it had been anyone other than him saying this, he would already have a knife in his head. But alas, the only thing Beta did was glare down at him, and Delta had a feeling that the man's expression beneath the mask was one of pure annoyance.

"Utter another word, and I will rip your tongue right out of your mouth and feed it to the guardians," Beta threatened. And while Delta had no doubt that the man was indeed capable of something like that, he chose to ignore the threat. 

"Damn, sometimes I feel like I'm the only person with a sense of humor around here," Delta mused, once again ignoring the harsh glare Beta sent his way. 

"To have a sense of humor, you would actually have to be funny," Beta responded curtly. Delta couldn't help the startled laugh that escaped from him. 

"It's not my fault you don't appreciate true humor," Delta replied as they approached the barn, "by the way, is anyone here actually willing to tell me what's going on... or am I just going to be in the dark till Alpha comes?" 

Beta glanced down at him, and through the darkness, Delta realized the man was smiling. He pulled to a stop, confused. Beta's smile grew wider. "Come, and you'll see." With that, Beta turned away from Delta, and the guards practically dove to the side as Beta neared the barn. Delta watched as Beta swung the doors open before walking inside. It took Delta a moment to snap out of his surprise, but once he did, he shook his head, quickly jogging to the door and trying to shove back the pit of dread that was once again forming in his stomach. 

  
  
The first thing Delta noticed when he entered the barn was that it was dark. Really dark. The only light he could see was coming off of a lantern in the corner, but that was it. After a quick look around, Delta's gaze found a second lantern hanging from a hook a couple feet away, a box of matches sitting below it. He crept forward, grabbing one of the small sticks from the pack and lighting it with a rock that had been sitting on the ground nearby. When he lit the lantern, however, the sight before him made him freeze.

  
  
In the middle of the barn were eleven men and women kneeling on the ground, hands tied behind their backs and their mouths gagged. Carl's gaze swept over every single one of them, his heartbeat picking up when he realized that these people weren't Whisperers or just any random people. They were from the fair, from the communities -- and two faces in particular made him feel sick to his stomach as panic and fear welled up inside him.

_What-_

"Isn't it wonderful," Beta's voice whispered, and Carl couldn't move a muscle as the large man moved beside him, "it's almost time-" Carl could barely hold back a flinch as the man rested a hand on his shoulder "-as soon as Alpha gets here, we can finally stake our claim."

That's when the realization slammed into him. What Alpha had been saying about staking a claim, what she had said about making the communities fear them. Carl sneaking that poison in had only been part of it, but this? This was something else entirely. This wasn't just killing people to make the rest afraid of them; no, this was about setting an _example._ Carl felt lightheaded, and he could feel the blood rapidly draining from his face, making him grateful for the mask he now wore.

One of the tied-up people let out a muffled cry upon spotting Delta and Beta in the doorway. It was a woman -- with shoulder-length brown hair and bright green eyes that were glistening with rage. She made a move to get up, but one of the Whisperers who must have been guarding them strode forward, kicking her in the back and forcing her down to her knees again. Carl vaguely heard Beta saying something else, but he wasn't about to make out a word of it -- all of his attention was focused on the woman.

_Maggie?_

Carl blinked furiously, wondering if he was hallucinating. But no matter how hard he blinked, the image didn't move away. Maggie was one of the people tied up before him. And the ten others didn't disappear either. All the air seemed to leave Carl's lungs when he realized that not only was Maggie sitting among them, but Henry was too, and when the blond teenager looked up, his eyes immediately went to Delta. The boy's eyes widened, and the look in them was a pleading one. 

Carl turned to Beta, not quite able to stomach what he was seeing. "How... what?" He cleared his throat, shaking his head and tried making his voice sound more curious than it was afraid. "How did you get all these people here?" 

Beta didn't respond.

But someone else did.

"It was quite easy, really," a third voice said calmly. Carl felt the dread pooling in his gut grow, and the hair on his arms and the nape of his neck stood on end. "These people are weak and foolish - none of them noticed until it was too late." 

"Alpha," Delta turned, dipping his head at the sound of his leader's voice. Alpha was standing in the doorway of the barn, her mask off as a group of Whisperers flanked both sides. 

"Delta. Wonderful to see you made it." The woman smiled as she fully stepped inside. The doors closed behind her with a loud slam, and the Whisperers who were following her ran to join the group gathered at the back of the barn -- all totally silent as they awaited their leader's next move. Alpha's gaze swept over the people tied up before her, and she lazily pulled a knife out from her belt. 

"Beta-" the large man straightened up at the sound of his name, Alpha's smile widened, "-bring forward the leader of Hilltop. You know which one I'm talking about." Beta nodded, and Carl watched, totally frozen, as Beta strode right up to Maggie. The woman tried lunging at Beta, but he ignored her, grabbing her roughly by the arm and halting her attack. He then pulled Maggie up to her feet, dragging her forward and wrapping an arm around her throat -- not enough to choke her, but enough to keep her from escaping. 

Maggie still struggled, though. She thrashed around in Beta's grasp, face scrunched up in anger as she tried desperately to free herself. It was all in vain, of course. Alpha stalked forward, twirling her knife around between her fingertips. Carl felt his stomach drop as Alpha pulled to a stop in front of Beta and Maggie. He wanted to help Maggie more than anything -- to run forward and pull her away from Beta, to stop the inevitable. But he couldn't.

He was totally helpless.

Just like he had been when Hershel -- the first one -- had died at the Governor's hands. 

Frozen in place, unable to do a single thing -- forced to watch as yet another loved one died before him. 

Alpha pressed the blade to Maggie's cheek, lazily tracing her jaw with the tip -- pressing deep enough to draw blood, but not deep enough to injure. Still, Maggie froze, and Alpha's smile turned predatory. "I should kill you right here," Alpha murmured, slowly dragging the knife down to Maggie's throat, "-should make your people watch. Should make them watch as their _precious leader_ failed to protect them."

Maggie was glaring daggers at Alpha now. Carl wished she wouldn't -- that she would just look away. Trying to resist would only make her death so much more painful than it had to be. But obviously, Maggie didn't know that, for she kept doing it. Alpha ignored the glare and just kept smiling in that creepy-ass way of hers. 

"But I ain't gonna do that," Alpha said, her voice near silent and Carl felt his breath catch, "while I certainly want to, I don't believe it should be me who gets the first kill." Confusion welled up inside of Carl, and he could see it reflected in Maggie's eyes as well. Alpha continued on: "there is someone else... someone who worked so _hard_ today, and I believe that they should be the one to take you out..."

Alpha turned, her eyes landing on Carl. He felt his stomach drop as she took a step in his direction, holding the knife out toward him. 

"Delta should get the honor." She declared. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> .  
> .
> 
> Oop..?
> 
> My finger slipped...


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUN

A few months after Carl had joined the Whisperers, Alpha had shoved a deserter down in front of him and told Carl to kill them.

Carl had done so without argument. He had walked right up to the traitor, ignoring their constant begging and pleading, and slit their throat with ease. It hadn't been hard. Carl hadn't even thought about it during or after he had done it. In fact, Carl was pretty sure that he had never even interacted with that person before that moment, so maybe that was why he didn't care for the life he had been taking. All Carl remembered knowing at the time was that he had been given an order by Alpha, and he was going to follow it because he knew damn well what would happen if he didn't.

It's funny how things change over the years. 

In the first few seconds that followed Alpha's words, there was only silence. Complete and total silence. The Whisperers were silent, the hostages were silent, Maggie was silent... Even Beta had looked slightly taken aback, something that was certainly not a regular occurrence. And Carl? Carl was just staring at Alpha, at the knife she held out to him, with his one blue eye wide, still trying to process what she just said. Time passed by slowly -- so slowly -- and by the time he managed to snap out of his shock, he still couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. 

"What?" He rasped out finally, blinking slowly. A large part of him was hoping -- no, praying -- that he had simply misheard her, that Alpha had told him to do something else. Because there was no way that she really just told him to kill Maggie, was there? The world didn't actually hate him that fucking much, did it? There had to be some mistake; there had to be something he was missing here.

But there wasn't. Carl knew that, no matter how much he wished he didn't, he had heard what Alpha said loud and clear. There was no mistaking her words. She had told him to kill Maggie. She had told him to kill his _friend --_ someone he used to talk and laugh and joke around with nearly a decade ago. And the thing was, that couldn't be a coincidence, could it? There was no way that Alpha would just randomly tell him to do something like that. That just... that didn't make any sense at all -- Alpha did everything for a reason, but right now, Carl didn't know what that reason was.

And that scared him more than anything.

"You heard what I said, Delta," Alpha said, pulling his attention back to the land of the living. She was staring at him, eyes narrowed and her face carefully blank. "You worked hard today. I know that most wouldn't be able to do what you did. Not even Beta." She tossed the knife she held down to the ground, right at Carl's feet. "Take it," she ordered, eyes narrowing further when Carl made no move to pick up the blade, "What are you waiting for?"

Carl held back a tremble as he bent down, reluctantly taking the knife into his hands. Breathing a tense exhale through his nose, he brushed the dirt off the blade, trying not to think of all the lives it had taken. It was taking every ounce of Carl's strength to keep his emotions from breaking his already cracked resolve. He didn't want to do this -- he might not know Maggie much anymore, but she had been family once upon a time. And not only that, but Hershel-

He took in a deep breath. 

Despite it being ten or so years since it happened, Carl could still recall the pain he had felt when his mom died. The grief had been near crippling, and with how distant his dad had acted afterward, it had felt like he had lost two parents instead of one. Carl didn't want Hershel to go through the same experience he had: Hershel deserved to have his mother; Glenn deserved to have his wife. If Carl killed Maggie, then...

Then...

He stared at the knife in his hands, fear and uncertainty thrumming through his veins. He turned the blade from side to side, watching numbly as the light from the nearby lantern reflected off of it. Carl forced his gaze back up to Alpha, trying desperately to fight down the panic that was getting oh so close to breaking free. "are... are you sure?"

"I am." Alpha leaned back onto the balls of her feet, her eyes not moving from his. She made a vague hand gesture to where Maggie continued to struggle in Beta's grasp. "Go on," she said, _"do it."_

As Carl stood there, he suddenly became very aware of the countless eyes burning holes into his body. He did a quick glance around, realizing with a start that pretty much every person in the barn was looking at _him._ Even the hostages were staring at him, watching and waiting to see what he would do. Carl's gaze found Henry's, and the look in the blond's eyes was one of guilt and confusion. Carl's gaze then flickered over to Maggie, meeting her stare head on.

A few seconds passed, and Carl watched as confusion flickered across her face -- Maggie could tell that he didn't want to do it, but she clearly didn't know why. Carl looked away before the guilt became unbearable. 

"Why are you hesitating, Delta? Is something _wrong?"_ Alpha questioned, her tone mocking. "Or can you just not do it?" That time, Carl wasn't able to hold back a flinch when Alpha took a step forward, clasping her hands behind her back as she began to circle him. "You aren't going _soft,_ are you? You aren't turning _weak?"_ She practically spat out the last word, and Carl froze when he saw the knowing look in her eyes. 

The realization crashed into him. Suddenly. Horribly. All at once in a near colossal wave. 

Alpha knew who he was. 

He didn't know how Alpha knew, but she did. She knew that Carl was Rick's son -- that Carl had known Maggie. All the pieces clicked into place, and Carl found himself feeling sick to his stomach. He stared down at the knife in his hands, at the dried blood that stained its edges. He took in a shaky breath, trying to keep his walls up even as everything was threatening to fall right down. 

He looked back up. "No, Alpha. I am not the weak one here. They are." He nodded to the hostages tied up on the ground, unable to stop the shudder that went down his spine at the slow smile that spread across Alpha's face. 

"And?" She inquired. 

Delta swallowed down the lump in his throat, trying to keep his voice from wavering. "The weak do not survive."

"Good," Alpha stopped circling him before nodding at the knife, "Now, do it."

The way she said it left no room for argument. 

Delta dipped his head, admitting defeat. "Yes, Alpha."

Reluctantly, he turned, taking a step in Maggie and Beta's direction. His heart beat like thunder in his chest, and it was loud enough that he was surprised the whole barn couldn't hear it. Carl forced himself to take another step toward Maggie, brandishing the knife and trying to ignore the muffled shouts coming from the rest of the hostages as they tried in vain to save one of their leaders. For a moment, just a moment, he looked over at Henry, and the look in the blond's eyes was one of disbelief. Carl pulled his gaze away quickly, knowing it would be better to just get this over with. Carl had to do this -- there was no other way. If Alpha told someone to do something, they either did it or died.

And there wasn't a single thing that Carl could do. He couldn't just disobey Alpha. Carl couldn't say no or try to make her change her mind. She would see that as him picking Lydia's side, as him picking the enemies side -- she would see that as yet another betrayal. Then she would kill him and then kill Maggie and then everyone else she had taken hostage. There were only two options here, and he wasn't liking either of them. 

But he had to choose. 

He glanced over at Henry again, but the blond wasn't looking at Carl anymore. Instead, Henry was leaning into an older man with long gray dreads and dark skin, who was clearly trying his best to comfort the distressed teenager. Carl forced himself to look away, his knuckles turning white from how tightly he was gripping the blade, and he knew it was only a matter of time before Alpha got tired of waiting and took things into her own hands. So, bracing himself, Carl took another step forward, pressing the tip of the knife to Maggie's throat, taking in a deep breath, and- 

_"You're gonna beat this world, you hear me?" His mom said as she lay on the cold concrete floor, exhaustion clinging to her every word. Her skin was paler than snow, and her face was shining with sweat -- she looked weaker than Carl had ever seen her look before. "You're gonna survive and beat this world."_

_Carl gave a weak shake of his head, trying his best to fight back the tears that were getting very close to falling. Maggie hovered by his side, the expression on her face one of grief and guilt. Vaguely, he could make out the shape of a blade in her hand, and Carl tried not to think of where that blade would be in a few short minutes -- instead, all of his attention was focused on his mom, who was getting paler and paler with each passing second. It was only a matter of time now._

_"You are smart, and you are strong, and you are so brave," his mom gasped out, giving his hand a tight squeeze as her eyes turned watery, "and I love you. You gotta do what's right. Promise me you'll always do what's right." She stared at Carl, her face strained with pain. "It's so easy to do the wrong thing in this world, so if it feels wrong, don't do it - if it feels easy, don't do it, don't let the world spoil you."_

Carl faltered at the memory, his grip on the knife loosening just a tad. 

_Mom..._

Carl could still recall the blaring alarm as walkers flooded into the prison yard as well as his mother's lifeless body; her stomach torn open and blood oozing out of a bullet hole in the middle of her forehead. Weirdly enough, her last words had been the only thing that had become blurry over the years -- her final request had been the thing he had nearly forgotten. Mind numb, he forced himself to meet Maggie's gaze. The look on her face was one of acceptance. Carl glanced back at Alpha, who stared at him expectantly.

_This isn't right_ , he thought; _nobody should be forced to kill their friend._

As of now, he wanted to scream a million things at Alpha, at Beta, at every single Whisperer in this godforsaken barn: _what is wrong with you all?! Don't you have any sympathy? Any empathy?_ But that was the thing. None of them did, not anymore. They had lost any humanity they had the moment the world had gone to shit, and now... now they were all waiting for him to make his move -- for him to step forward and put an end to Maggie's life as he had been ordered to do.

Once again, his mind wandered to his mother's final words.

_You gotta do what's right._

_Promise me you'll always do what's right._

And that was the moment he realized just what he wanted to say. What he wanted to do.

So with a deep breath, he pulled the knife away from Maggie's throat and turned around. He pointed at Alpha, staring right into her eyes and said: "I challenge you for the title of Alpha."

* * *

Claustrophobia was a word that Lydia heard very rarely in her short sixteen-ish (seventeen-ish?) years of life. It's a word that she's heard mentioned in a couple of conversations in the past but never actually knew what it meant until she had asked Delta about it one day. And while Delta didn't know a lot about it either, he knew enough to tell her the primary meaning. _Some kind of anxiety disorder that causes an intense fear of small spaces_ had been what he said, and while Lydia hadn't asked about it again, she never could completely erase the idea of it from her mind.

Because an intense fear of small spaces? Lydia could definitely get behind being afraid of something like that. For as long as she could remember, small rooms or areas had been (and still were) one of her worst nightmares, and with good reason too. They meant less room to move around in, fewer places to hide, fewer places to run, less space to breathe, and things like that could end up being someone's downfall in the long run.

Now, Lydia would never admit to being claustrophobic, not to anyone in this community and definitely not to her mother. But right now, she could feel the walls of the theatre starting to close in on her. And the sound of people arguing over what to do coupled with the guardians banging their hands relentlessly against the doors, their low groans filtering in through the cracks, was enough to make her throat close up, her vision blur, and her ears ring. She had to start focusing on her feet to keep herself from hyperventilating, and that was a task that was getting harder by the minute. 

She was sitting all alone in the corner of the theatre, chin resting on her knees and arms hugging her legs to her chest. They've been locked in the theatre for a little over an hour now, and it felt like the longer they stayed in here, the louder the guardians would get. Most of the people around her were arguing and trying to figure out how to get out while a few others were trying to calm the kids down, and while Lydia wanted to help, wanted to fight, all she could think about was how much she wanted everyone to just _stop arguing._

Seconds felt like hours, and Lydia didn't move an inch. While the idea of getting out of the theatre and killing the guardians that were locking them in was slightly comforting, she just couldn't find it in her to feel good about it. Not when her friends might still be in danger. Lydia couldn't stop thinking about Henry and Delta, and oh god, Henry wasn't in the theatre, which meant he could still be out there with the guardians and if they got their hands on him-

Lydia hugged her legs tighter and tried not to think about it -- instead, she chose to focus her attention on her hands and feet and pretty much anything but the way the walls seem to close in more and more with each passing second. She could hardly breathe, and even though she had managed to warn everyone in the theatre about the guardians (and probably saved a lot of people from being killed), she couldn't help but wonder if it was all her fault. 

If Lydia had gone with her mother instead of resisting, would Alpha finally be willing to leave these people alone? Was Lydia being here only putting the communities in even more danger than before? She'd like to think that, no, it wasn't, but she soon found herself doubting that more and more. Oh god, why did she have to get herself into such big messes all the time? 

Lydia could feel herself starting to get lightheaded, so she pulled Delta's hat out of the bag Henry had given her a couple hours before. She hugged the hat to her chest, tears threatening to fall from her eyes, and started tracing her fingertips over the weathered and still somewhat dusty surface, slowing her breathing until she didn't feel on the verge of passing out. The golden cords wrapped around the hat were dull and fraying -- the color having faded quite a bit over the years -- and the star in the middle almost completely blackened by mud, blood, and who knew what else, but somehow the damn thing could comfort her more than anything else. 

She didn't know how to deal with the fact that Delta was the cause for all those guardians out there, and she didn't know how to deal with the fact she had had no idea if he was alive or not. She didn't know how she'd manage if he ended up getting killed because he had stayed with Alpha instead of going with Lydia. Delta had been her only friend for so _long._ He had stayed by her side despite the many odds stacked against him; had taken various punishments for her and had the scars to show for it; had _betrayed_ Alpha to get Lydia, Hershel, and Henry out of the Whisperer's camp alive, and... and...

Lydia took a deep breath. 

God, she hoped he was okay...

She could hear a few of the smaller children crying, and when she glanced over briefly, her eyes were immediately drawn to Hershel, who was curled up in one of the seats while Anne, Judith, and Beth tried their best to comfort him. Lydia wanted to get up and ask what was wrong -- wanted to go over and offer him comfort as well. But then she remembered that his father was back at Alexandria injured, and his mother was nowhere to be found, and Lydia found that she couldn't shove back her guilt enough to actually get up and say something. 

Lydia's eyes were drawn to the theatre door, boarded up by random chairs and bits of furniture found around the room. It wasn't a lot, but it would hopefully be enough to hold the guardians off until they managed to figure something out. Everyone was forming their own ideas on how to get rid of the dead, but so far, they hadn't settled on anything specific. 

Briefly, Lydia wondered about what kind of supplies they have in the room. She had seen a couple people bring in popcorn and other snacks, and she knew that a lot of people like carrying their weapons around (and in this world, who wouldn't), but Lydia didn't know how long that stuff could last them. Hopefully, for a few hours, which should be around the time Daryl and the rest come back. 

She started breathing a little easier after a few minutes, watching as the arguing died down a little bit. People were murmuring quietly in small groups now, though Lydia knew it wouldn't stay that way for long -- in a room with this many people stuck inside, someone would be bound to snap eventually. 

And she was, unfortunately, proven right.

A few minutes go by relatively peacefully, but then one of the people from Hilltop -- an older looking man who Lydia's only seen like, once -- came storming toward her, body bristling with rage. Lydia was instantly wary when she noticed him, dread pooling in her stomach. She made a move to get up, hoping to be able to run over to where Beth was with the children of the communities, but the man reached her right as she got to her feet, grabbing her by the arm and yanking her back. 

"You little bitch!" He snarled into Lydia's face, digging his fingers into her arm to stop her from escaping. "This is all your fault!" 

Lydia could feel the panic bubbling up within her the very moment the man had grabbed her. Memories of being back in the Whisperer's camp flash through her mind -- of the men there with their hungry eyes and wolfish grins; of their mocking laughter and endless taunting. She remembered the way they would grab her arms, pinning her down and holding her still as one of their friends worked to tear her clothes off. And... and-

The man let go of her arm with a grunt, and Lydia stumbled back almost instantly, falling right onto her ass. There's the sound of a slap, and once Lydia had managed to regain her bearings, she saw Beth standing in front of her, a large hunting knife clasped in one of her hands. Beth glared over at the man who grabbed Lydia, her expression furious. 

"Hey, back off, jackass!" The blonde spat, taking a step toward the man. "What do you think you're doing?"

"What do you think _I'm_ doing?" The man hissed, taking a threatening step toward Beth, who didn't cower. "What are you doing by letting her stay here? She's one of those skin freaks who killed Jesus, so how do we know she isn't the one who let the dead in here in the first place?!"

Lydia was vaguely aware of the hundreds of eyes burning into her body at that very moment: some disgusted, some horrified, some confused... Everyone in the theatre was either looking at Lydia or the argument happening right before their eyes. Lydia felt her face flush red with a mix of humiliation and anger, and she found herself inching away from Beth and the unknown man, not stopping until her back hit the wall. 

"Are you fucking stupid?!" Beth seethed, blue eyes alight with rage. "How would she let walkers in - it's not like she can just dig a hole through the walls without anyone noticing."

The man flinched back, face red from what was either embarrassment or rage, but he clearly wasn't about to give in. "Well, how else would they have gotten in?!" He yelled, giving Beth an annoyed glare. "I don't know how, but I know that she has something to do with it!" He waved a hand in Lydia's direction, and if she had been a little less panicked than she currently was, she would have glared at the man. But alas, the only thing she did was hug Delta's hat close to her chest as she tried desperately to calm the rapid beating of her heart. 

Something in Beth's expression changed, and the woman sighed, shaking her head. "Look... I get it. You're scared. We all are-" she gestured to the people surrounding them "-but randomly accusing people isn't going to help anyone. We'll find out how the walkers got it, but right now, we need to work together to get _rid_ of them." The look on the man's face was a bitter one, and he opened his mouth to argue, but then he paused, glancing around as if suddenly aware of his audience. Face burning brighter than a tomato, he gave a reluctant nod, stepping away. 

Beth glanced over at Lydia, her face softening. "How many did you see out there, Lydia?" She asked calmly. 

"I... I don't know... thirty maybe?" Lydia pushed herself up to her feet, legs nearly falling beneath her, but somehow, she managed to stay upright. "That's around how many I saw, I don't know if there's more."

A couple people started talking amongst each other at her words, and Lydia put Delta's hat back on her head, trying and failing to keep her hands from shaking. Beth's expression changed to one of faint surprise as soon as she realized what Lydia was doing, and numbly, Lydia wondered if she had known Delta too. She wouldn't be too surprised if that were the case. 

Either way, Beth shook her head, running a hand through her hair, "Okay... that's not too bad," she murmured, not really to anyone in particular. The blonde then lifted her head, gaze sweeping around the theatre, her eyes calculating as she took everything in before motioning toward one of the women standing at the front of the crowd. "Nabila, I need you and a few others to gather all the children. Keep them toward the back of the theatre, and do not let them wander away," the woman who Lydia assumed was Nabila gave a small nod, immediately starting to do as asked. 

Next, Beth turned to the rest of the crowd, her eyes sweeping over each and every face. "I want anyone who knows how to kill a walker near the front of the theatre with some kind of weapon - if you don't have one, take one from your neighbor or just use what you can-" once again, many in the theatre pulled out some kind of weapon, not a single one of them protesting. Beth turned again, eyes landing on someone else in the crowd "-Jerry, Earl - I want you at the doors. Ezekiel..." Beth glanced around, a frown pulling at her lips, "where the hell is Ezekiel?"

One of the women in the crowd stepped forward, looking anxious. "I think he might still be out there... a few others too."

Oh, that was definitely a reason to worry. Lydia only had a few conversations with Henry's father, but she knew that the man was the leader here, and him being missing as well was not a good thing. Beth clearly was thinking along the same lines as Lydia, but the blonde did a pretty good job hiding it.

"Okay..." Beth said, sounding tired, "-stick to the same plan. Let's just hope everyone not in the theatre managed to hide."

As the people started walking around the theatre, doing as they had been asked, Lydia found herself running forward, grabbing Beth by the arm with a sudden sense of urgency. The blonde turned almost instantly, eyebrows furrowing as she took in the worried expression on Lydia's face.

"Yes?" Beth said, voice dropping to a whisper.

Lydia worried her bottom lip between her teeth, eyebrows furrowing as she tried to figure out just what she wanted to say. "There's... there's something else I need to tell you," she said after a moment or two, lowering her voice to a whisper, not wanting anyone but Beth to hear. 

Beth looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"My mom-" Lydia cut herself off, swallowing down the lump that had formed in her throat _"-Alpha..._ she was here. She was at the fair and..." Beth inhaled sharply, and Lydia forced herself to go on, trying her best to ignore the panic that was now causing her body to shake, "she's gone, but... I can't find Henry. I... I don't know if she did something to him or if he's still out there, but... but..." 

Beth cut her off, resting a gentle hand on Lydia's shoulder. "You think she let the walkers in?" The woman asked softly, reaching down to give Lydia's hand a small squeeze. The gesture was surprisingly calming, and Lydia found herself relaxing somewhat, her heartbeat slowing down to a healthier speed. 

Lydia shook her head in response to Beth's question. "No... she... she didn't." She forced herself to look up at Beth, breathing a tense exhale through her nose, "I know my mother, Beth. She wouldn't risk getting caught if she didn't have to. I think she might have killed someone, and-

"-not put them down," Beth finished for her, blue eyes widening as the pieces clicked into place. "Shit... you think the walkers out there are from the fair?"

The truth was, Lydia knew for a fact that it hadn't been her mother who had killed the people at the fair. She knew it had been Delta who had done it, but something inside was screaming at her to lie -- to try and cover his tracks. Pinning the blame on her mother would be much simpler, and she doubted that the woman would even deny it if someone accused her of it. And Delta... she wasn't about to give him away like that. 

"Motherfucker..." Beth rubbed a hand over her face in a way that reminded Lydia of Daryl whenever the man got irritated. The blonde pulled her hand away from her head, her expression thoughtful as she began to speak. "Thank you for telling me, Lydia, but for everyone's sake, I hope you're wrong."

Lydia gave the woman a grim smile. "I do too." 

"Okay..." Beth took a couple steps away from Lydia, raising her voice so everyone in the theatre could hear her, "Jerry, Earl, when I say so, I want you to open that door. Not by a lot, but just enough for a couple walkers to poke their heads through." The two men lingering by the doors nodded, having gotten rid of most of the barricades in the time Beth and Lydia had been talking. Beth turned to the rest of the crowd, "Everyone else, I want you to take out the walkers that get past the door. If a lot of them end up getting through, protect the children at all costs, got it?"

Lydia glanced around, hope swirling in her chest when she saw the people nodding around her. They could do this. They could be out of the theatre by sunrise. They would get out of here, and everything would be okay again, and Lydia would probably find Henry hiding from the guardians in some weird-ass spot, but he would be okay, and that would be all that mattered. 

"I can help too!" A young voice piped up, and Lydia's attention -- along with everyone else's' -- was drawn to the back of the theatre, where Delta's sister stood, katana in hand and a determined look painting her face.

"No, Judith," Beth said instantly, eyes narrowing.

"But-"

"I said no," Beth repeated, and while Delta's sister looked like she was about to argue, one stern look from Beth put that to an end almost instantly. Judith slunk back to where the rest of the children were, and Lydia made a move to join Beth, but the blonde quickly held a hand up to stop her. 

"That means you too, Lydia," Beth said calmly, letting her hand fall back to her side. Lydia opened her mouth to protest, but Beth cut her off before she could "-I understand that you can handle yourself just fine, but you've already done enough today. Let us handle this, okay?"

Almost every part of Lydia was screaming at her to argue, to insist on helping because she wasn't a fucking _child,_ goddammit. But there's something about how Beth was looking at that made Lydia give in, reluctantly nodding as she started walking toward the back. The look that crossed Beth's face was one of relief, and the blonde turned back to everyone gathered near the front, taking in a deep breath.

"Okay... is everyone ready?" Beth asked, and immediately people started nodding. Beth looked around, taking in everyone with wide eyes as if she could hardly believe this was happening. "I'm going to count to three," Beth said, "and when I reach three, Earl, Jerry, you know what to do." The two men at the door nodded, and Lydia watched with her arms crossed as everyone readied themselves for the guardians.

Beth took in a deep breath, brandishing her knife. "One..."

Lydia felt a hand tugging at her shirt. When she looked down, Hershel was standing there, a nervous expression on his face, and without thinking about it, Lydia kneeled down beside the boy, wrapping him up in a tight hug. Hershel clung to her almost instantly.

"Two."

Lydia watched as everyone tensed up, and the guardians banging at the door seemed to get a hundred times louder, almost as if the dead could sense what was about to happen.

"Three!"

And with that final word, the doors were flung open.

* * *

Carl would like to think of himself as a smart and levelheaded person, especially considering he had managed to survive in such a shitty world for this long. And, while knowing he wasn't totally incapable of making mistakes, Carl would like to think that he was someone who always knew just what his next move was going to be -- that he was smart enough to think things through before doing something that could potentially be his downfall. Carl also liked to believe that he always thought before he spoke, that he chose his every word carefully, and that he didn't rush into anything without a plan.

Yeah, no. None of that was even the slightest bit true.

Carl was _such_ a fucking dumbass. 

Because challenging _Alpha_ of all people? That was practically suicide -- everyone who was a Whisperer or had been part of the Whisperers knew that. Alpha hadn't lost a single challenge since the Whisperers had been formed, and while Carl had no doubt that Beta could probably beat Alpha in a fight, the giant was much too loyal to her to even let the _idea_ of challenging her cross his mind. And Carl? He had always been fucking terrified of Alpha. She was the most unpredictable person he's met -- no one could ever tell what she was thinking or what she might try and do, and that was more dangerous than anything else in this undead world. 

But apparently, none of that information was able to stop him from challenging her anyway. And yet, as soon as those words left his mouth, he found that he didn't even regret it. Alpha had done so much shit to him, Lydia, and hundreds of others throughout the years, and he was so _tired_ of standing by and just letting her get away with it.

And, just to get one thing straight here, none of this made Carl a decent person. He was no hero like his dad was. Carl had killed countless people in his lifetime, and he was pretty sure that heroes didn't do that. Heroes didn't kill unless they absolutely had to, never stood by and watched as people were hurt, murdered, or beaten right in front of them, and they sure as hell were never loyal to a murderous psychopath with a penchant for harming their own kid. Heroes were people like Daryl, Michonne, and his dad -- people who tried their hardest to help others. Heroes were good people, and that was something Carl could no longer be, not after all the horrible shit he's done. If he were a hero, he would have tried stopping Alpha _long_ before this. 

But no matter how much of a horrible person he may be, Henry was his friend, and Maggie was _family._ And while Carl had no idea when he started considering Henry his friend or when he realized Maggie was still family even after so much time had passed, he did know that he wasn't about to let Alpha kill the both of them without at least making an attempt to save their lives. It was the very least Carl could do -- for Hershel, for Glenn, for Lydia, for Daryl, for Michonne... for his dad... for his mom. Carl wasn't and never would be a hero, and he might die tonight at Alpha's hand, but you know what? Carl was perfectly okay with that. If he died tonight, he would die knowing that he had _finally_ followed through with his mom's final request, and that was enough for him. 

One could probably hear a pin drop after Carl spoke -- after he _challenged Alpha_ \-- and the silence was near suffocating. Alpha stared at Carl, actually looking surprised, and distantly, he was aware of Beta moving around behind him. The seconds passed like years, and Carl's fingers tightened around the knife as he waited for some kind of response -- for Alpha to say _something,_ anything at all. 

And, after what felt like an eternity, she spoke.

"You _what?"_ Alpha spat, staring at him as a look of pure _fury_ crossed her face. Carl stared back unflinchingly, not moving even as Beta crept up behind him, no doubt wearing the same look of rage beneath the mask. But Carl found that he didn't even care anymore. He was just so _tired_ of Alpha's little games. 

"You heard me," Carl said, voice not wavering, "I challenge you." 

"You challenge me?" Alpha repeated, her voice low and tone mocking. "All because you don't want to kill the girl? I thought I taught you better than that, boy. I thought I taught you to be strong." She took a step in Carl's direction, hands clasped behind her back. "Clearly, I was wrong. You're just as weak as Lydia was." She practically spat out the last word, and Carl tried not to panic as what she said registered in his mind.

Because _was?_ What did Alpha mean by _was?_

Carl tried not to think about it too hard. For all he knew, Lydia was safe and sound at whatever community Daryl had brought her to. This was most likely yet another one of Alpha's mind games -- she did have a penchant for messing with people, so he wouldn't be surprised if she was only saying that to scare him. But at the same time, if Alpha had somehow managed to bring Henry here... then what were the chances that Alpha got her hands on Lydia too? The mere thought of Alpha anywhere near Lydia made him feel queasy, and the idea of Lydia being dead was... was...

It was terrifying. 

He took in a deep breath, tensing up even more as Alpha began to circle him. Knowing better than to let her out of his sight, he started turning as well, not wanting to give Alpha a chance to attack him from behind. Lydia had to be okay -- he didn't know how he'd manage if something happened to her. But right now, Carl needed to have his head in the game if he wanted to get out of this alive -- if he wanted to keep Maggie and Henry alive. And Lydia...

Lydia was okay. She had to be. 

"You know what, fine - maybe I am weak - maybe I'm not as strong as you want me to be," Carl said, letting out a humorless laugh and glaring at Alpha as the rage burned brighter in his gut. "Or maybe, I'm just tired of being your little _bitch_ \- tired of being slapped around and treated like I'm nothing more than a piece of garbage," his voice grew louder and louder with every word, and it was most likely attracting walkers, but Carl found that he didn't even care anymore. He was done with Alpha, done with the Whisperers, done with _all_ of it. "Or perhaps," he continued, voice steady despite his shaking palms, "it could be because I'm tired of seeing the shit you do to your own people - of seeing the shit you let your people do to _each other._ Ever think about _that?"_

By the time the last word leaves his mouth, Carl was left near breathless with his chest heaving. His knuckles were turning white from how tightly he's holding his knife, and it took him a moment or two to realize just how _long_ he's been waiting to do this for. How long he's been keeping these feelings pent up, how long he's been wanting to give Alpha the smack-down she deserved. And while he knew how little it probably affected the woman, it filled Carl with a weird self-righteous energy, one that made him feel so much lighter than he could ever remember being.

"And you challenge me because of this?" Alpha questioned, tilting her head as a serene smile formed on her face. "Because you don't like how I run things? You think _you_ could be a better Alpha?" Finally, she pulled to a stop, standing only a few feet away from where Carl stood. He found himself straightening up, not backing down from her stare. 

"Nah, I _know_ I can be a better Alpha," he stated, watching as her eyes narrowed, "but I'm not challenging you because of that. Or because I want to _be_ Alpha. Because I don't. Leading just isn't my thing." He glanced over at Henry -- at Maggie, who was back to kneeling with the rest of the hostages, staring at him with a calculating look in her eyes. Carl looked back to Alpha, taking a small step forward, "I did it because none of these people deserve whatever fucked up death you have in store for them."

"Is that so?" Alpha let out a low chuckle -- one that sent a chill down his spine, but he refused to let it show. "You never shied away from death before, Delta. What's so different about them? What about them made you think that being weak was better than being strong? Is it the boy?" She nodded over to Henry, the look on her face disturbingly blank. 

"He's part of it," Carl admitted, shrugging, "but this isn't me being weak, Alpha. I'm simply doing what I should have done the moment I came back to this fucking hellhole you call a group." He glanced over at the hostages, gaze sweeping over each of the faces, his eye lingering on the more familiar ones. Henry had half his face buried in the shoulder of the same dreadlocked man from earlier, and Maggie was still staring right at Carl as a younger woman he recognized from Hilltop leaned into her side.

Carl didn't know even half of the people Alpha had taken hostage. He didn't know their names, what kind of life they lived, whether or not they were decent people -- he knew absolutely nothing except for the fact that none of them, no matter how horrible they may or may not be, did anything to deserve whatever death Alpha had planned for them. Henry was what? Sixteen? He was much too young to die. Maggie had a husband and a son to get back to. And whether they lived or died would depend on Carl and whatever his next move may be. 

He looked back at Alpha, who was now standing beside another Whisperer Carl could barely recognize and was murmuring something into their ear. Carl heaved an internal sigh, his grip on the knife tightening even more. 

"Oh, and one more thing before we start," he called out, speaking loud enough to draw Alpha's attention back to him. "My name isn't Delta - it never was." His ex-leader took a few steps forward, an amused look crossing her face as she looked him up and down. 

"Oh?" She said, lazily twirling a knife around between her fingertips. "Then what is it?"

Staring right at Maggie, he said, "it's Carl Grimes." Immediately, Maggie's eyes widened, and before anyone could realize what was happening, Carl was ripping his mask right off his head, throwing it down to the ground, brandishing his knife, and lunging right at Alpha. 

He had the knife pointing at her head, hoping to get a killing blow before she could even register what he was doing -- but he should have known that wouldn't have worked; that would have been way too easy. Alpha dodged to the side right as he reached her, just barely managing to evade the blade descending toward her head. Carl stumbled to a stop, spinning around and slashing at his ex-leader's arm. The knife point caught along her elbow, digging deep enough to draw blood but not deep enough to slow her down. 

Alpha lunged at him, swinging her own knife at his face, and Carl just barely managed to avoid the attack. He darted forward, slashing at her head once again, and Alpha leaped away quickly, a look of boredom on her face. Somewhere behind him, Henry was trying to shout something through his gag. 

Carl didn't have the time to try and figure out what Henry might be trying to say. Even the smallest of distractions could kill him here. All his attention had to be on Alpha, who had just dived in for another attack. Carl darted away, but not before Alpha managed to swipe her knife across his hand. Blood spurted out from the wound, and he hissed in pain, quickly retaliating with his own attack, which Alpha avoided with ease. 

Back one step, dart forward and swing his knife -- go back, dodge Alpha, ignore the pain in his hand. Slash, kick, punch, duck -- don't let Alpha get any vital hits. It was a blur of movement, but it was a routine that Carl fell into quickly.

Run forward, slash at Alpha, dart back, dodge her attack -- rinse and repeat. 

It went on like that for a few minutes: Carl and Alpha circling each other, darting in and trying to get a hit before quickly moving away. And after what felt like an eternity, Carl swiped at Alpha again, but before he could move back to safety, she caught him by the wrist and pulled him closer, raising her knife up to his throat and preparing to dig it into his skin for a killing blow. Panic flared within him, and without thinking about it, he slammed his forehead right into her nose. 

His head exploded into agony, but he also heard Alpha hiss in pain, dropping his wrist to grab at her face. Carl stumbled backward almost as soon as he was free, clutching at his own face. With his vision now blurry and his ears ringing, he was vaguely able to make out the blood running freely down Alpha's face. The woman straightened up and wiped some of it away, eyes burning with rage. Then, before anyone could do anything but blink, she rushed forward, slamming into him and sending Carl tumbling to the ground, his knife clattering down nearby. 

His elbows hit the ground first, followed by his back, efficiently knocking the breath right out of him. After a second, he made a move to get up, but it didn't take long for a heavy weight to cover his own, forcing him back down with ease and eliciting a sharp cry from his throat. His hands shoot up on instinct, grabbing Alpha's wrist and only just managing to stop her from digging the blade into the skin of his neck. But Alpha wasn't about to give up. She tore her wrist out of his grip before promptly bringing the knife down into his shoulder. 

At that moment, all Carl could feel was panic, pain, fear, and the complete and utter certainty that he was about to die. He bit down on the inside of his mouth as hard as possible to stop himself from crying out. Blood seeped onto his tongue, and he raised his knees and hands, trying his best to push Alpha off of him. The woman grunted, but didn't move until Carl managed to hit her right in the stomach. She doubled over in pain, and Carl used this opportunity to shove her to the side and climb back up to his feet, quickly picking up his knife from where it had fallen. 

Alpha got up at the same moment he did, and for a few seconds, they just stared at each other. Both of them were breathing heavily, and Carl was vaguely aware of the pain radiating from his shoulder -- but the pain was distant. He felt the tension creep up his spine, and without looking away from Alpha, reached up and ripped the blade from his shoulder, throwing it off to the side. The blood poured down his body in waves, his bones ached with exhaustion, and the pain was near unbearable, but all of Carl's attention was aimed at the woman standing in front of him. 

"That all you got?" Carl asked after a few seconds. 

Alpha let out a low chuckle, stepping forward. "I'll admit, you're probably the only challenger that lasted this long." There's a pause where she just stared at him unblinkingly. Then, she opened her mouth, clearly about to say something else, but before she could, the doors to the barn opened with a bang. 

Carl spun around along with Alpha and pretty much everyone in the barn. His vision was still somewhat blurry from the fight, so it took him a second to register what was happening, but once he did, the first thing he saw was two men running through the now open doors, weapons of some kind in hand. One of the men swung some sort of wrench at the nearest Whisperer to the entrance, efficiently knocking them to the ground as his companion smacked down another. And, within seconds, the whole barn was in chaos.

And Carl?

Carl saw his opening.

Ignoring the pain thrumming throughout his entire body, he ran straight to where Maggie sat among the hostages, knife held tightly in the palm of his hand. He dropped to the ground behind her, working quickly to cut the ropes that bound her wrists together. Distantly, Carl was aware of the sounds of a fight happening around him, but he didn't care. Carl got up as soon as Maggie's restraints were gone, not saying a word and immediately going over to Henry, who's struggling to climb to his feet as the dreadlocked man beside him did the same.

The blond teen's head shot up at the sound of approaching footsteps, tensing up before relaxing somewhat when he saw Carl kneeling down beside him, cutting the ropes as quickly as he could before moving onto the dreadlocked man. Henry scrambled to his feet, practically ripping the gag from his face as the battle raged around them. The dreadlocked man did the same as soon as Carl freed him, glancing around quickly before picking up a plank of wood from the ground.

"You need to go," Carl whispered, grabbing Henry by the arm, "you need to get out of here while you still can." The blond teen looked at him with an expression of fear and confusion, eyebrows furrowing as he registered his words. 

"I'm not leaving all my friends here," Henry insisted, and if Carl was any less tired, he would have rolled his eye. Didn't Henry realize that he would die if he stayed here any longer? Sometimes trying to be a hero just wasn't worth it.

"Don't be stupid," Carl whispered, meeting the eyes of the dreadlocked man from over Henry's shoulder, "you need to go. Warn the rest of your people." A loud shout caught Carl's attention, and he turned, his eye widening when he saw Maggie struggling to fight off two Whisperers as a younger woman with short brown hair fought to free herself from her own restraints. 

"Where - where are you going?" Henry questioned, watching as Carl began to move away. Perfectly aware of how little time they had, Carl paused for only a moment, staring at Henry and the dreadlocked man with a look of urgency on his face. 

"Where I'm going doesn't matter. Now, if you want to live to see the next sunrise, I suggest you get the fuck out of here and get your ass back to Lydia." And with those final words, Carl turned away and ran to where Maggie was, praying that Henry would come to his senses and flee. 

The barn was a small place, and with all the fighting going on around him, getting to Maggie became a task that was so much harder than it should be. Knowing he wouldn't make it over there in time, Carl raised his knife up and didn't even hesitate, throwing it straight at one of the Whisperers attacking Maggie. He hit his target right in the back, and the Whisperer's body went rigid for a split second before falling to the floor with a muted thud. Carl made a move to run over to Maggie, who was now focused on fighting a more even battle with her other attacker, when he felt a large hand cover his injured shoulder. 

_Oh shit-_

"You did a bad thing, Delta." A low voice snarled into his ear.

Carl knew he was fucked the moment he heard the voice. His heart leaped high into his throat, and he made a move to turn around, but he was shoved to the ground before he could even register what was happening. He cried out in pain when his body hit the hard wooden floor, fear blooming in his chest as a large, blurry figure loomed over him. And while Carl couldn't make out any real details, the figure's size alone was a dead giveaway on who it was.

"Traitor," Beta growled, giving Carl a rough kick in the side, "you betrayed Alpha. You betrayed your _people."_ The giant raised an arm, something clenched in his fist, and despite how fucked Carl's vision was, he knew with absolute certainty that the 'something' was a knife. Beta swung down, aiming the blade at his chest, and Carl only just managed to roll out of the way. His hands found a plank of wood that had fallen on the ground, and without thinking about it, he swung it at Beta. The large man took the hit with a grunt, but all it seemed to do was piss him off more. 

Beta lunged on top of him with a growl, forcing a sharp cry from Carl's throat as the giant of a man practically crushed him under his weight. Carl's hands go up immediately, his mind screaming at him to fight. But despite his best efforts, he was unable to stop Beta from digging his fingers into the stab wound Alpha had given him. Carl couldn't stop the scream that escaped him as the pain in his shoulder flared up, and he curled in on himself right as Beta wrapped one of his large hands around his throat. 

Carl gagged, eye widening as his lungs began to scream for air. He started to struggle, pulling at Beta's hand and desperately trying to yank it off of him, but his efforts were in vain. If anything, his struggle only made Beta's grip on his throat tighten. His panic worsening, Carl slammed his hands into Beta's face, clawing at the man's mask and digging his nails into his skin. Beta hissed but once again didn't move a muscle, and Carl felt a sudden pain in his stomach where Beta's other fist connects. 

Carl could feel his body beginning to shut down -- his movements grew slow and weak, dark spots danced in the corner of his eye, the ringing in his ears worsened, and he was on the brink of blacking out when, suddenly, he heard a distant thunk from somewhere nearby. The sound was followed by Beta's weight falling off of Carl's smaller frame, and immediately, he rolled over on the floor, climbing to his hands and knees as he began to cough and splutter, taking in greedy lungfuls of air.

The battle raged on around him, but Carl couldn't bring himself to move. He simply laid there, struggling to breathe even without Beta choking him. So when he felt a hand landing on his back, he simply closed his eye and prepared himself for the inevitable killing blow. 

"Carl?! Carl, look at me!" A whimper of pain escaped from him, and despite his confusion, Carl obliged, prying open his eye enough to see that it was Maggie who was now leaning above him, her expression frantic as she took in his injured state. 

There was a loud crash somewhere nearby, followed by the sound of Alpha's voice yelling orders to her people. Carl let his eye fall shut again. "You... you need... need to l-leave..." he whispered, every word causing ripples of pain to tear through him. 

Maggie shook her head. "No. I'm not leaving you here. Your dad would never forgive me - hell, I wouldn't forgive myself." So, despite his protests, Maggie wrapped an arm around Carl's shoulder, urging him to move. Carl groaned in pain, but the mere mention of his dad ignited something within him, and he forced himself up, body screaming in pain as he struggled to get to his feet. But as soon as Carl was up, Maggie started guiding him away, and somehow, not a single one of the Whisperers noticed them leaving the barn. If Carl were in a better state, he would be wondering why, but all he could focus on was the immense pain thrumming throughout his body.

The pain in his stomach was the worst, nearing agony, and he looked down, immediately finding the cause. 

There was a knife sticking out of his stomach.

Beta had stabbed him.

"Oh," Carl murmured, "that explains it."

"It'll be okay," Maggie whispered hurriedly, urging them to go faster. She glanced down at the knife in his stomach, her face pale as a sheet, "I know this hurts, but you have to stay awake." The fight back at the barn seemed to be distracting everyone else, but Maggie clearly didn't want to stick around any longer than she had to. Carl couldn't blame her because he didn't want to stay either. While a large part of his mind was screaming to go back and help, he knew that, deep down, doing that would only make things worse. 

"C-can't..." he rasped, feeling his eyelid begin to droop. The sounds of the battle were becoming more distant by the second, and while he knew he should feel relieved by that, it was getting harder and harder to stay awake. Maggie was practically dragging him along at this point, and as much as he wanted to go with her, he knew he would only end up slowing her down -- would only end up getting her killed. 

"You _can,"_ Maggie insisted. But not even a second after she said that, Carl ended up stumbling over something in the dirt, sending him sprawling into the mud, dragging Maggie down with him. Pain exploded within his body, and he just barely managed to bite back a scream. He felt Maggie getting up beside him, but he didn't have the energy to do the same. The world was only getting darker and darker. 

"G...go..." Carl murmured, voice barely above a whisper. It would only be a matter of time before Alpha realized he was gone, and when she did, she would send someone out to find him, and if they were really unlucky, she would send Beta. Maggie couldn't be here when that happened. She had to be safe -- for Hershel's sake, for Glenn's sake. Carl was okay with dying, but he wasn't okay with being the reason for Maggie getting killed. 

"I'm not fucking leaving you," Maggie hissed, "we either go together, or we die together. I'm not letting you out of my sight ever again." 

Carl gave a weak shake of his head, opening his mouth to argue, but the only thing that escaped him was a faint groan. His hands found the knife in his stomach, and his fingers curled around the handle. Blood gushed out onto his hands, and with the amount there was, he knew that walkers from miles away would be making their way over right now. Maggie had to go, but she wasn't. Instead, he could feel her tugging at his arm, trying to get him back up, and he didn't even have the energy to pull away. 

There was a split second where Carl wondered if he would go to heaven or hell -- if he would see his mom on the other side -- before he felt the last bit of energy leave him and the entire world went black. 

* * *

Daryl paced back and forth through the grassy field the Whisperers had left them in, ignoring the concerned looks Carol kept sending him as the sun crept higher and higher up into the sky. It had been a few hours since they had been cornered by the Whisperers -- since Alpha, the crazy bitch that called herself Lydia's mother -- had taken Rick with her to who knows where. He wanted to go looking -- to go find out what Alpha had done with his brother -- but he knew that wasn't an option right now, no matter how much he hated to admit it. 

Michonne, from where she stood a few feet away, appeared just as agitated as he was and kept staring down at her hands and then up at the sky continuously, biting her lower lip until it bled, her expression one of worry. If Daryl wasn't as pissed off as he was right now, then he would try and comfort her -- say something about how Rick was probably trying to find them right now -- but even if he did say that, Daryl doubted Michonne would buy it. Hell, he didn't even know what would happen himself, and that scared him more than he would like to admit. If Alpha ended up killing Rick... Daryl took in a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. He didn't even want to _think_ about the possibility that Alpha had killed Rick. 

He was so lost in thought -- so lost in his countless worries about what might have happened -- that he almost didn't hear Michonne's shout followed by the sound of her running. Daryl stopped his pacing, looking up to see the familiar figure of his brother slowly making his way over. Relief washed over Daryl in a wave, and he ran after Michonne, watching as the woman engulfed Rick in a tight hug. Daryl pulled to a stop a few feet from them, taking in how _tired_ his brother looked. He wasn't injured, but there was clearly something on his mind.

After a minute, Rick pulled away from Michonne, eyes instantly finding Daryl's And much to his surprise, Rick strode forward, wrapping Daryl up in a bear hug. Immediately, Daryl's whole body went rigid, not expecting it at all, but he quickly came back to his senses, hugging Rick back as the shock and relief finally settled in. Rick was here. He was okay. 

Daryl could only hope that Carl was too -- wherever the hell the kid may be. 

Rick pulled away from the hug after a few seconds, running a hand across his face. Daryl stepped back, not saying a word as they all started walking again. While he wanted to ask Rick about what he had seen, he could tell that his brother clearly didn't want to talk about it. And right now, Daryl was just relieved to be heading back home with everyone still alive. 

_(He should have known things wouldn't stay that way.)_

They had been walking for around ten minutes, or maybe more than that -- Daryl wasn't counting. Either way, they were walking through a lush section of forest with looming green trees, heading in the direction Daryl knew would lead to the Kingdom. Then, without warning, he heard Michonne gasp, drawing the group's attention to a lone figure lying against a tree trunk, head hanging as muffled sobs escaped them.

"Enid?!" Michonne shouted, nearly dropping her katana as she rushed over to the young woman. Daryl felt his eyes widen as he took in Enid's appearance -- she was covered head to toe in dirt and mud, blood oozing from a cut in her forehead. But other than that, the woman appeared relatively uninjured. Michonne started cutting at the restraints tying Enid to a tree as Rick undid the gag. As soon as the ropes were gone, Enid fell into Michonne's arms, coughing and spluttering. 

"What happened?" Rick asked softly. Enid struggled to her feet, gasping and nearly collapsing a couple of times. Too exhausted for words, she pointed to something in the distance, tripping over her own feet. Michonne wrapped an arm around the girl's waist, letting her lean into her side. 

"I... I..." Enid shook her head, face pale and body trembling as she struggled to get the words out. Daryl didn't think he'd ever seen the girl look this shaken, and it was clear to him that she was on the verge of hysteria. That only caused a pit of dread to form in his stomach. What happened that made Enid so terrified? What was she even doing outside the walls anyway? Daryl had so many questions, but he had a feeling he wouldn't like the answers to any of them.

Enid pointed once again to something behind them -- up the hill. The group slowly started making their way over, and as they got closer, Daryl began to realize that it was a clearing of some kind. He watched as Rick went to Enid's other side, murmuring something to Michonne before sweeping his arm under Enid's legs and lifting her up with ease. It was probably a good thing that Rick did that -- the girl didn't look like she would be able to stay standing for much longer. Daryl forced his attention away from Enid, focusing it on the clearing in front of them and trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut. 

The group remained cautious as they emerged from the treeline, stepping out onto the clearing and climbing up the hill. Cold winds rushed by them, blowing Daryl's hair into his face, and he squinted, taking in the eleven stakes embedded into the ground a couple feet away from each other. _What the fuck is that supposed to be?_ He glanced over at Rick, taking in the look of dread that crossed over his brother's face. Then, Daryl looked back at the stakes, his heart stopping when he spotted what was on top of the stakes. 

Heads.

There were eleven heads stabbed onto the stakes. 

From where she laid in Rick's arms, Enid let out a soft sob. Daryl couldn't bring himself to look away from the stakes, instead quickening his pace and praying that it was just walker heads on there and not someone he knew. But as he got closer, he knew that it wasn't the case -- from left to right, Daryl took in the familiar faces on each stake, heart thundering in his chest as a cold, icy terror encased his very being. 

He could hear Michonne gasping, could see the grief and disgust covering Yumiko's face as she lifted a hand to cover her mouth. Enid had her eyes squeezed shut, silent tears streaming down her face. Rick looked horrified, and Daryl felt his eyes begin to burn as he took in the faces of people he had once known -- of the people he would never see ever again.

_Ozzy._

_Alek._

_D.J._

_Frankie._

_Tammy._

_Rodney._

_Addy._

_Siddiq._

_Amber._

_Laura._

_Ezekiel._

Daryl's grip on his crossbow loosened when his eyes landed on Siddiq's face. And he felt his hands trembling when he looked to Ezekiel at the end. Distantly, he registered the sound of someone sobbing beside him, but all of his attention was focused on the stakes, his stomach dropping even more when he heard the low moans coming from each of them. Fuck, they hadn't even been put down. They had been killed, had reanimated -- which meant they'd been dead for hours and-

Carol.

"No! No!" Daryl cried out, rushing toward Carol, whose face had turned deathly pale as she stared at her husband's lifeless head. He grabbed her by the shoulders, blocking her view of Ezekiel and trying to get her to look into his eyes, "Just look at me," he ordered, feeling his heart crack at the absolute devastation that was on her face, "just look at me."

Carol stared at him blankly, body beginning to tremble. She moved a hand to cover her mouth, and a low sob escaped from her. Daryl could only watch, totally helpless, as one of his best friends started breaking down before his eyes. He had no idea what to say. Had no idea what to do. The last time he had dealt with something like this had been with Sasha, which had been years ago and-

"Mom!" All hands snapped around at the sudden shout, and Daryl felt confusion swarm him when he saw Henry stumbling into the clearing, face streaked with mud and his side oozing with blood. _What the fuck was Henry doing out here?_ Daryl didn't have time to ponder over it for long because then Carol was breaking out of Daryl's grip and sprinting forward, a heartwrenching sob escaping her as she enveloped her son in a tight hug, nearly knocking them both over. But neither of them seemed to care. 

In fact, Henry practically collapsed into her chest, body shaking as he clung to his mother just as tightly as she clung to him. Daryl knew from past experiences that this was something Henry rarely did, and that was enough to make his heart drop even further. 

Daryl ran forward, Michonne and Yumiko hot on his heels. Henry had his face buried in the crook of Carol's neck by the time the group reached them, sobs shaking his body, and Daryl felt the air leave his lungs as he took in the long gash going down the teen's side, tearing a hole through his shirt and practically soaking his entire left side with blood. Carol noticed it the same time Daryl did, and she pulled back slightly, running a hand over the wound before quickly snatching it away as Henry hissed in pain. 

"What happened to you?" Carol whispered, her voice choked with tears. Henry shook his head, face growing paler and paler by the second. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came from the blond's lips was a low whimper.

"We need to get him to Beth," Michonne said from her spot beside Daryl, "that isn't looking too good, and we don't want it to get infected." Carol nodded numbly, tears still streaming down her face. She whispered something into Henry's ear, petting his hair as if assuring herself he was really there, and the boy nodded weakly in return to whatever she had said, leaning into his mother as he stared at the ground. Suddenly, Daryl found himself wondering if Henry even knew of his father's death. Fuck... had... had the kid seen it happen?

He opened his mouth to voice this thought to Michonne, but before he could, he saw Henry's gaze flitted up from the ground and over his mother's shoulder. The teen was quiet for a few seconds, but then his face melted into an expression of horror, and Daryl immediately knew what the boy had seen. "N-no," Henry whispered, stumbling forward on wobbly feet. The poor kid didn't even make it three steps before his legs were giving out, and Daryl quickly moved to catch him. Henry didn't notice, or maybe he just didn't care -- all the boy could focus on was the eleven stakes stabbed into the ground, or more specifically, the one with his father's head on it. 

"Henry-" Carol started, reaching out to pet her son's hair. "Henry, I-"

"DAD!" Henry shrieked, trying to wriggle his way out of Daryl's grip. Daryl didn't let the kid get very far, though -- wrapping his arms around Henry's shoulders and torso to hold him back. "DAD NO!" Henry screamed again, voice sending a bolt of pain shooting through Daryl's heart. Henry let out low wail, beginning to thrash around in Daryl's arms. "He told me he was going to be okay! He told me to run and that everything would be okay! H-he was supposed to make it back... he was supposed to..." Henry was cut off by another sob, and then Carol was stepping forward, tears dripping down her face. Daryl let Carol take Henry into her arms, and almost instantly, the teen was falling into her chest.

Daryl looked up at the sound of footsteps, and his eyes met Rick's, who was carrying a now unconscious Enid in his arms. The look on his brother's face was one of horror, and Daryl had a feeling that the same look of horror was on his own face as well. He glanced back to Henry, who was openly weeping into his mother's arms. 

"He said it would be okay..." Henry whimpered, words slightly muffled, "I didn't want to run... but Dad told me to go, and Carl said... he said to find you and..." Henry was cut off by another sob, hiding his face into the crook of his mother's neck, and Daryl felt his heart stop at the mention of Carl. He looked up at Michonne and Rick, and he saw that same look of fear and confusion, telling Daryl that they had heard what Henry said too. But if Carol heard Henry say Carl's name, she didn't show it. Instead, she just hugged her son tighter. 

"We're going to be okay, baby," Daryl heard Carol whisper to Henry, "it's going to be alright. You're safe now. It's over." She began petting her son's hair, trying her best to comfort him, and Daryl wondered if Carol actually believed the words she was saying. Because after this, how could things be _okay?_ How would anyone be alright? How could they even be the slightest bit safe after today?

"No..." Henry whispered back, shaking his head weakly, and Daryl had to strain his ears to hear what the blond said next. 

"It hasn't even begun."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Henry, Enid, and Maggie are alive. But Ezekiel and Siddiq are dead.
> 
> Oops?
> 
> As for Carl... you'll find out soon enough. And, fun fact, when I was planning this chapter, I WAS going to kill Maggie, but as I got to actually writing it, I found that I couldn't bring myself to do it. I love her character too much. And poor Glenn didn't deserve to lose his wife.
> 
> By the way, a few might be confused as to why there are eleven heads. Now, I realized that I put fourteen hostages in the last chapter, but then I realized that wouldn’t have been right seeing as the highwaymen weren’t captured at that point. So I changed it to eleven hostages, then the highwaymen appeared and all that. So while Enid, Maggie, and Henry escaped, the highwaymen took their place.
> 
> It physically hurt me to write that last scene with Henry. I have to admit, I didn't like this character much when I first started writing this, but I've grown so attached to his character and now I feel super bad for hurting him like that. Poor boy :c

**Author's Note:**

> So, a sequel to my oneshot, A Different Road Taken. You don't have to read it to understand this fic, but there will be some references to it, so I do recommend it.


End file.
